#and then scribbled even more lines everywhere

[prettyfilmz]

BACK OF THE CLUB • ELIAS S. MOORE

author's note: did this take me an entire month to finish and edit because I got hit with a major case of writer's block and had to drabble myself out of it? yes. but that's ok! it's been a minute since i've written something long so I hope y'all enjoy 🥹💗

synopsis: absence makes the heart grow fonder they say...when comes to elias and charlotte after 7 years of silence is the spark still there? or is this just a night of nostalgia?

pairing: elias 'stack' moore x black oc (charlotte belle)

warnings: 18+ (MDNI), modern au (set in the mid 1990s) some angsty themes, hints at religious trauma, flirty banter, established relationship, heartfelt confessions, closet sex, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, teasing, body worship, daddy kink, cunnilingus, hand job, missionary, sweet praise, clit play, riding, mating press, creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, lots of dirty talk.

word count: 5.9k words

(songs to enhance your experience: back of the club - kwn , aeomg - coco jones)

Stack saw her before she saw him.

He always did.

Through a haze of liquor and bass speakers of the club him and Smoke recently purchased, where the air smelled of cologne, sweat, perfume, and marijuana, his eyes locked onto the silhouette near the back of the room. Poised, elegant, and haunting. 

His Lottie.

Her name had weight now. Charlotte Elise Belle : The world-renowned Poet. Her books blessed shelves across the world. Front page of Essence magazine, photographed on intimate balconies with timeless beauty and books that spoke like lullabies. Critics said her writing made people cry in languages they didn’t even know how to speak. That her words were soft, but heavy. Feminine, but untamed. Girls sent her letters about how her words healed wounds they didn’t know they carried.

He’d seen her on billboards with her face half turned, lips parted, a manicured nail poised beneath the title “Her Garden of Solitude” like she was about to silence the whole world with her pages. An NAACP Award nominee. Bestseller three times over. Her poems were everywhere now, whispered on lips that wondered who was the muse she scribbled with love, angst, and sultry incantations.

There was fire in her walk she shied away from seven years ago, confidence lining every step like she trained for the runway. Her once fidgety and buzzing nature bloomed into aura that was enchanting  and firmly claimed her femininity. She traded the bulky sweaters and ankle length skirts she used to hide her body in for a coral slip dress clung to her gently, not flashy, not loud, still authentically her but more mature. Her full lips painted with a deep berry color. Her doe eyes lined with kohl eyeliner and fluttery lashes. Her coily hair flowed just about near her mid-back which…god it suited her so well. Her body was even curvier than he remembered caressing in the latest of nights, her breasts more fuller and her ass had more jiggle, could make the holiest of man commit every sin if it meant getting a taste of what she had.

And grace. Lord, she moved with grace. Like the pain hadn’t stolen it,  the judgment hadn’t crushed it, and his absence hadn’t shriveled it up and tossed it behind her.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

Stack leaned back, drink sweating in his hand. Annie laughed nearby, brushing past him on her way to the bar, Smoke at her hip. Sammie and Pearline were on the dance floor somewhere. Lottie’s soft eyes flickered toward the floor then up again as she weaved through the crowd. Nervous, maybe but not scared. Not how she used to be. 

Not after what he did to her.

“Damn,” Stack muttered under his breath.

The blonde beside him curled a hand around his bicep. “You say somethin’, baby?”

He blinked. Barely registered her. Just set the drink down with a clink and stood up.

“Yeah. I'm gettin’ another round.”

He moved through the crowd like a slow storm, eyes locked, body drumming with anticipation. And when Lottie looked up and saw him—really saw him—her breath hitched in that way she always had when he was close. Her lips parted, her chin tilted stubborn, but he caught it…the ache, the longing, right there under her skin.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft yet steel like iron.

She didn’t hug him. Didn’t reach. Didn’t touch. Hell, she didn’t have to. He felt her touch through her intense stare with those big beautiful brown eyes he always got lost in.

“Hey, Lottie,” he said, low and rough, like her name lived under his tongue.

They stood like that a beat too long, taking each other in. Like they were trying to get used to seeing each other again after all the years that passed by.

Then he gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you somethin’?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “White wine. Nothin’ too heavy.”

He nodded, waved the bartender over. She perched on a stool beside him, legs crossed delicately, back straight, every movement elegant but not rigid. He watched her watch the room. It occurred to him then that she didn’t belong here. Not in the way others didn’t. She simply...transcended it.

“Didn’t see you at the openin’ last night,” he murmured, sliding her the glass.

She took it gently. “Wasn’t ready last night.”

He gave her a half smile. “What changed?”

“I got tired of hiding from ghosts.” She shrugs.

His chest ached. That definitely struck a nerve.

He sipped his glass of scotch slow. “You ain’t no ghost, Lottie.”

“True, but you were.”

The silence that fell between them hurt. It was thick and suffocating.

“I read your book,” he said finally, voice low.

Her lips parted, eyes flickering toward him. “Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

Her laugh was soft and surprised. “You said you hated poetry.”

He leaned in, close, elbow brushing hers. “I didn’t hate it. It just didn’t have your soul in it before.”

Her smile was small, fragile even.

“I ain’t ever known anybody who wrote like that,” he continued. “Felt like you carved those pages outta my own fuckin’ chest.”

“I didn’t write it for you.” She states plainly.

“I know.”

“I just…knew if I didn’t release any of this pain, I’d never heal.”

His throat tightened.

She shifted, hands brushing down the smooth curve of her waist like she didn’t know what else to do with herself.  “My mama threw my writings in the fireplace,” she said after a moment. “Daddy tried sending the deacon to ‘pray the demons out of me.’”

Stack’s jaw clenched.

“I ain’t seen ‘em for a few years now,” she said quietly.  “Guess when your baby girl writes about cunnilingus and religious trauma, it don’t fit with the gospel of shame they taught me.”

Stack frowned, taking another sip from his glass allowing the burn to trickle down his throat. “You didn’t deserve none of that.”

“I needed it,” she said. “All of it. Losing you, the silence, the judgment, the isolation. It gave me the confidence to stop livin’ for other people and start livin’ for Charlotte.”

He nodded, proud of her but regretful in his part of her growth.

“You ever tell your family about us?” he asked quietly after a brief pause.

She tensed up, taking a generous sip of wine but nodded.

“After you left… I didn’t have a reason to hide anymore. They knew somethin’ was up anyways ‘cause I was cryin’ nonstop the first two weeks after you left. I ended up leavin’ the house a few weeks later. I just felt..suffocated. Like every time I walked through the door, I could hear their voices…not talking, just judging me and lookin’ at me like I was damaged goods. And telling me who I was supposed to be, what loving you meant, and what God would think.”

He said nothing.  

Lottie took a slow breath. “They said it was God’s will that you left. That your kind of man only brings ruin and I should be grateful I was spared.”

“My kind of man,” he echoed, bitter.

She took another sip of wine. “They meant the man who fucked me on a picnic blanket mid-day near the bayou and came inside me in his busted ass buick before even making me his girl. That kind.”

Stack choked on his drink, not expecting the vulgarity out of her. 

“You were mine,” he said, his voice hushed and raw.

“No. You fucked me and then left me,” she cuts him off, pointing a finger at him. “That’s not a proclamation of love, that’s a fling with a timestamp.”

“I had to leave.” He argued.

“No, you didn’t,” She snapped. “You wanted to.”

Stack exhaled. “I wanted to keep you safe. Away from the shit me and Smoke were drownin’ in.”

“You should’ve let me choose that.” Her eyes narrowed, pierced right through him.

“And then what?” he asked, tone sharp, but low. “You get caught up in mob shit, end up bleedin’ in a trunk some night in Chicago ‘cause I wanted to feel loved? Nah, I’d rather be the villain than the reason you bled out.”

She leaned closer now, barely a breath away. Taking in the warmth of his cologne that haunted her for years. Her voice turned cold with fury laced in heartbreak. “I’d rather bleed beside you than ache in a room full of people who only love the molded idea of me.”

That shut him up.

Lottie traced the rim of her glass, then continued. “Anyway, I left their house. Annie helped me out with some jobs and I got my own place. Started reading everything I was never allowed to read, wore what I wanted, wrote what I wanted and I stopped asking for forgiveness for loving you.”

His jaw clenched. “Lottie-”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

He closed his mouth.

“I found my own rhythm but it didn’t come from them. And it damn sure didn’t come from you either. You leavin’…it hurt me so bad I thought I was dyin’ from a broken beart. But it cracked me open and I gained a spine from it. I found my freedom.” Her voice didn’t raise, It was calm, measured, still kind.

He watched her, awe carved into the lines of his face.

“I ain’t surprised,” he said.

She looked up.

“You always had that strength in you, Lottie. You was just scared to embrace it.”

“No. I had love. You just didn’t believe you were worth basking in it.”

That hit him harder than any bullet could. She always knew how to see through him like he was made of glass.

“I believed you were too good for the world I was walkin’ into,” he confessed.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“I see that now.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t have to. 

He finished the last of his drink and placed his glass down again. “Dance with me?”

Lottie hesitated, then stood determined. “Only if you hold me right.”

He nodded. “Always will.”

Stack pulled her in. Slow. Soft. The music was fitting perfectly for their vibe, Sade being spun by the DJ this time. Her fingers slid over his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her waist, strong and sure, and the moment she laid her cheek against his chest, something inside him cracked.

He pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“I saw your tattoo,” she whispered against his chest. “The one inside your forearm.”

“You like it?”

“It’s my name. You don’t think that’s a little…”

“Permanent?”

She looked up. “Stupid.”

“I got the flower too,” he said, smiling boyishly. “Hibiscus. ’Cause I remember how much you loved ‘em. You always said roses are too cliche.”

She looked down, her voice caught in her throat. “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything’.”

They moved slow, her body molded to his but still holding back, like her soul wasn’t sure whether to run or be reborn. They were silent again. As the song played on, she sighed into his shoulder.

“I missed you, Elias,” she whispered.

“I missed you too, Lottie. More than you can imagine.”

“Still flirtin’ with them white girls, huh?”

 “Ain’t none of em’ ever made me feel like a goddamn boy again. The only woman I want got her name on my skin.”

Her lip trembled, but she smirked. “And I thought I was the poetic one.”

He chuckled. Then, quietly he says “I loved ya, even back then.”

“You never said it.”

He nodded. “’Cause it scared the hell outta me.”

She looked up. “Why?”

“Because when we had our time together, sex or not you always looked at me like I was something sacred to keep. And I ain’t never been that. Not once…and I knew I’d ruin it.”

Her cheeks flushed. Her voice was still soft but steady.

“Yeah?” She said, ”And yet you still had the nerve to lick the blood off my pussy after you popped my cherry in your car that night on Valentine’s Day.”

His body tensed, eyes darkening and teeth clenching as if he was automatically transferred back to that moment remembering her moans, her taste, her touch, the feeling….

“Lottie..”

“Lottie, what?” her voice laced in a sarcastic tone. “You can’t rewrite history like that shit ain’t happen.” She stared up at him, voice quiet but sharp enough to slice him raw.

His grip found her hip, a firm warning. “You sayin’ shit like that’s gon’ get you-”

A soft smirk played on her full glossed lips. “Get me what, Stack? got a problem? fix it.”

And with that, she broke away from his hold, walking with an extra sway in her hips exhibiting temptation. She didn’t have to look back to know he was following her trail.

♡

The door clicked shut behind them softly.

Cool air in the closet kissed Lottie’s flushed skin. The hum of music outside was muffled by thick walls and the thudding of her heart. Her back was to him. 

Stack stood behind her with his hands at his sides, breath heavy.  The space between them was fragile, like a wand bubble too full to last in the air. 

“I ain’t ever been good with words,” he said softly. “Not like you.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her chest rose and fell fast, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. She looked up at him with those big, beautiful brown eyes. “You didn’t have to be good with ‘em. You just had to use ‘em.”

He stepped forward, cautiously to see if she would back up..but she didn’t. She instead moved towards him, closing the gap between them. 

“I love you.” He breathed, the words held a weight on his heart for seven long years.

The pause after was heavy, her hands flattening against his chest like she needed to hold the words still between them as if they were going to disappear.

 He leaned in, kissed her forehead, then her nose. “I never stopped.”

“I needed you to say it back then,” she murmured.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hated you for so long.” She sighed, a single tear falling down her face which Stack gently wiped away from her cheek with his thumb. 

“You got every right to,” he murmured. “You never looked at me like I was wrong—even if I was—you always looked at me like I was someone worth lovin’ and…fuck Lottie I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Lottie lifted her hand to place against his cheek, prompting him to turn his head and lay a gentle kiss on her palm.

“You’re still it for me,” he said. “You always were. Even when I was drownin’ in my demons, gettin’ my hands bloody, even when I was fuckin’ around just to feel anythin’ but empty…I’d see your name in a bookstore or your beautiful face on a billboard and it’s like my whole world goes quiet and calm.”

Her lip trembled as she took every single word into her soul. As much as she wanted to believe he was bullshitting, just saying things just to say. The way he gazed at her like she held the sun, moon and all constellations in the sky made her heart flip. 

“You know…I wrote those poems for myself.” she whispered. “But a part of me really wanted you to read them.”

Stack brushed a few wild curls away from her face. “Once I found your books, I keep readin’ em’ over and over. Whatever place Smoke and I ended up in, I’d sit and read. It’d help me sleep.”

“If I known that I would’ve sent you an autographed copy.” she dryly joked. “Shouldn’t have made me suffer in silence. You either.”

“I didn’t think I deserved a woman like you.” 

“Then be the man who does.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. 

Her hand left his cheek to slide down to his forearm, fingers trailing the brown skin until it met the ink that decorated it. His sleeve was rolled up enough for her to see its full design. Her name—Charlotte— carved in delicate cursive with a blooming hibiscus twined through each letter. The petals shaded in vibrant pink and red hues that he remembered she loved best. 

She traced over the tattoo softly with her fingers.

“When’d you get this?” she asked.

“Six months after I left,” he murmured. “I couldn’t get you out of my head. Needed a reason to keep goin’.”

She sniffled a little.

“You not leavin’ again?” she asked, silently praying this wasn’t a single night of nostalgia.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere Lottie.” Stack took her hands into his, squeezing in reassurance.

“Promise?” she pressed, voice cracking.

“Wherever you go, I go.” His voice filled with emotion as he pulled her close, lips a few breaths apart from hers.

She let out a shaky breath as her body melted into his. Their lips met soft and delicate. His kiss poured all the words he left unsaid for seven years and Lottie didn’t dare pull away. Her hands slid up into his short, slicked back curls, fingers tugging gently earning a few quiet groans from him which sent a throb in between her legs as his lips deepened against hers, slow and coaxing. He kissed her like he was eager to relearn every inch of her mouth, tongue tracing hers, exploring the taste he deprived himself of for too long. 

Her breath hitched every time he pressed himself closer to her body, his hand ghosting the curve of her waist, sliding over her hips to grip her thigh.

She gasped into his mouth when he lifted her.

“Elias..” she murmured against his lips.

“I got you,” he whispered, something told her that statement had several meanings…all which made her heart warm.

He pressed Lottie carefully against the closet wall, the coolness from the heat combined with heat of his body on hers felt almost erotic. Her legs were cradling his hips all while Stack kissed her neck. Every brush of his warm, wet lips against her neck, every nip and gentle suck against her pulse point brought back memories her body stored. Lottie tilted her head back, lashes fluttering, every breath she took was shaky between her full parted lips as he licked the spot beneath her ear that made her whimper even years later.

“I’m surprised you remember that.” she whispered.

“I told you I remember everything about you, baby.” Stack mused. His hands slid underneath her dress, warm against the back of her curvy thighs, trailing higher where her thighs met her ass. 

“No fair…you’re teasin’.” She moaned as his palms kneaded her flesh.

“Ain’t no fun without a lil’ teasin’” he chuckles, kissing her pouting lips. He gave her ass a firm squeeze and a sharp smack that made her squeak, and his grin widened against her lips.

“You still mad at me?” Stack murmured, kissing under her ear, letting his lips linger on the sensitive skin.

“Maybe.” Lottie’s breath hitched when she felt his teeth nibble on her lobe.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I should make up for that, huh?” His tongue traced the curve of her throat, his teeth scraping gentle against the skin under her jaw before placing wet, open mouthed kisses there. 

She let out a hum of agreement, tilting her head back to give him more access. He didn’t rush when he slid his hands under her dress. He took his time pushing it up, revealing smooth thick thighs that trembled slightly. He dropped to his knees. Kissed her belly, then the sensitive spot on her hip, and hooked his fingers into her lace panties.

“Can I see her, baby?” he whispered. Lottie complied, resting one leg on the shelf nearby and the other on his shoulder, letting him pull her panties down and off, her thighs parting on instinct. 

He stared in awe. She was glistening. A small but neatly trimmed triangle of dark curls framed the mound of her swollen pussy. He saw the twitch of her heat and the slow throb of her clit peeking out between the puffy lips of dark pink.

“Damn, Lottie…”

She tried to close her legs in embarrassment but he was quicker than her, hands holding her thighs apart firmly. 

“You wet like that from kissin’ me, hm?” he teased, lips ghosting over her inner thighs.

“I-Shut up..”

He chuckled knowingly, grabbing her ass to pull her forward until her back arched off the wall. 

“Don’t hide her from me,” he murmured. “You know I love this pussy..I missed her.”

She gasped as he leaned in, burying his face in between her thighs. One of her hands flying to the wall and the other clinging to his hair. He didn’t go straight for her pussy. He teased her inner thighs with slow, wet kisses, nuzzling her folds with his nose, dragging his lips up her mound and down again. When he blew cool air over her clit, she shivered.

“Eliaaas,” she whined. “You’re teasing..”

“You said I owed you,” he smirked. “This how I pay my debts.”

Stack’s tongue traced her slit slowly, teasing the sensitive flesh before flattening against her clit in slow and greedy circles.

“O-oh, god…”

He moaned against her, tongue working her open, mouth sucking on her clit not too hard but not too soft..just the way she liked it, lips locking around it while his tongue flicked back and forth.

“Mmmnh! E-El-Elias…oh-“

“I missed this lil’ button,” he said with a wicked grin, tongue flicking right over her clit, then down again. “She so fuckin’ pretty… always so damn sweet for me.”

Her thighs shook. She arched into his face.

His voice was filthy now, soaked in lust.  “You always liked it when I talked to her, huh? She likes it too. She pulsin’ on my tongue, baby. She know who I am.”

He used two fingers to spread her open, licking deeper now, tongue darting in and out of her hole before flicking up to her clit again, stroking slow circles. She rolled her hips into his face, crying out softly with every pass of his tongue.

She cried out, the sound raw and needy, hips jerking against his mouth. “Fuuuuck, baby, don’t stop—don’t stop—”

“Not stoppin’ till you cum all over my fuckin’ face,” he growled, tongue and fingers moving faster.  “Let her give it to me, come on, baby girl, let it go.”

And she did.

Her body tensed, thighs clenching around his head, pussy spasming around his fingers. She moaned his name in a high-pitched cry, eyes squeezed shut as her orgasm rolled through her like a wave, long and hard and aching. He held her steady through it, fingers still pumping in and out of her pussy. He lapped at her, slow and deliberate now, sucking and kissing the oversensitive flesh until she whimpered and pulled back.

“Too much,” she pants tapping his shoulder, voice shaking.  “Oh god too much…”

He pulled back, lips and chin glistening, looking drunk on her.

“I ain’t even started yet,” he murmured, licking his lips, standing back up to full height.

He kissed her again, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue, and she whimpered into him. 

He pulled her dress off completely, tossed it to the floor next to her clutch and took a slow, full step back.

“Lemme see you, Lottie.”

She stood in front of him, completely bare, brown honey skin glowing under the closet’s dim overhead light. Her breasts full and soft, nipples dark and hardened peaks. 

He reached out, ran his fingers down her torso.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed, thumbs brushing over her nipples. “Shit…I shoulda worshipped you better back then.”

He bent his head, kissing along her throat, her collarbone, down to her breasts. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, circled it with his tongue, then bit down just enough to make her gasp.

She grabs his shirt at the hem, helping him pull it over his head.

Then she kissed his chest. His neck. His jaw. Soft little nips and whispers of her breath across his skin. Her hands unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, pushed them down until he was bare, his shaft was heavy, thick and hard, standing proudly between them.

Her eyes dropped and her breath hitched.

“I forgot how big you were,” she whispered, prompting a smirk to appear on his lips.

“Still yours,” he said. He took her hand and wrapped it around him. “Still remember what to do with it, baby?”

She stroked him slowly,her hand barely able to wrap around him fully, thumb circling the slit at the tip where precum beaded, eyes locked to his.

“Like this?” she asked, voice sugary sweet, tone soft but knowing.

He groaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck. “Fuuuck, baby…”

“You look like you missed me.”

“I did.”

She pumped him slower, watching his jaw clench.

“I think you should say it.”

“I missed you,” he breathed. “I missed this hand, this mouth, this pussy—fuck, baby, I missed everything…”

“I think you should prove it..” she purred, her hand leaving his length to bring up to his view, her fingers shining with precum that she eased into her mouth while keeping eye contact with him. 

Stack growled, picking her up with ease earning a gasp from Lottie  and laid her on the bench against the wall. He stroked himself once, lining up with her soaked entrance with the head. 

“You still my sweet lil’ Lottie?” he asked, lips ghosting down her neck, warm lips dragging along the line of her jaw, lightly tapping the head of his cock on her clit. 

She whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist. “You know I am.”

He took that as an invitation to push in. 

The stretch was divine.

Lottie’s breath was caught sharp in her chest the moment she felt him sink inside. She reached for him instinctively, arms curling tight around his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into his brown skin, face buried in his neck as inch after inch filled her up. Her pussy fluttered, drawing him deeper with every soft gasp that escaped her lips.

“Mmmnnh fuck Elias…’s too much..” she whimpered and he shushed her gently.

“Shhh…just breathe, baby…I got you.” he whispered in her ear, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other gripping the plush meat of her thigh. He moved slow, letting her feel the full press of him, allowing her body to adjust. 

When he was buried to the hilt, pelvis flush against hers, he paused and exhaled. 

She was warm, slippery, and tight and so damn soft. Like her pussy spent the last seven years waiting to mold perfectly back around for him. Her walls fluttered, squeezing him in slow little pulses that made his jaw lock.

“Damn,” he groaned into her neck. “You still tight like you ain’t let nobody else in here.”

“s’cause I didn’t..” She blinked up at him, flushed and panting.

He froze, throbbing inside her.

“You bein’ serious?”

Her fingers trailed up the back of his neck, nails softly brushing against the small curls there.

“You’re the only man that ever touched me, Elias…the only one.” She whispered.

That struck something vulnerable in him.

Stack kissed her hard, lips crushing, open mouthed, tongues entangling as he started to move. He started with long, deep strokes at first, the drag of him inside her was slow and greedy, savoring in the way Lottie’s pussy clung to him like a vice. Her nails dug into his back, the stretch still intense, toeing the line between pleasure and pressure but it was perfect.

“Mmm..Mmmnnh—fuck..” she gasped, head lolling back. “God you feel so good.”

He grunted, pulling both her thighs over his shoulders, thrusting deeper to hit those sensitive spots at a different angle. “Look at you,” he rasped, brown eyes trained on her face, the way she shivered and moaned underneath him. “You so pretty like this...that’s my good girl.”

“‘m your good girl.” she whimpered back, voice shaky.

“That’s right. My sweet lil Lottie.”

Her pussy clenched and his breath got caught in his throat.

“Yeah?” he murmured, hips grinding slow and tight. “Still like when daddy calls you that, hm?”

“Y-yes…” she moaned soft and high, choked by the pleasure blooming hot between her thighs, her hands on his shoulders, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. “I love it.”

“Rub that button for me, baby.” he instructed her. “Give her some love.”

Lottie placed a hand in between her legs, rubbing tight, quick circles on her clit, just the way he used to teach her. She moaned high and sweet as she came for him again, Stack kissing her through her orgasm.

“Let me see you ride it, baby.” he growled, pulling out and sat on the bench with his thighs spread. 

“C’mere, mama.”

Lottie climbed into his lap, knees bracketing his hips, her thighs trembling with anticipation. She reached between them and guided his cock back to her soaked entrance, rubbing the thick head against her clit at first, teasing herself with little circles until Stack grunted and grabbed her hips. 

“Teasin’ ass.”

She smiled knowingly, and then she sank down on him slow, eyes fluttering as she took all of him. 

“Ohhh…fuck…” she moaned, bottoming out, thighs tensing around him. 

Stack’s head fell back against the wall, jaw clenched. “That’s it,” he groaned, gripping her ass, guiding her up and down his length. “Bounce on it, baby. ’s all yours.”

She rolled her hips, beginning to ride him slow at first then picking up the pace. Her body moving like a slow dance, glistening under the closet light. Her breasts bounced with roll of her hips, he reached up to cup them in his large hands, fingers pinching her nipples lightly. Her hands braced his shoulders and he watched her like she was straight out of his favorite dream. Lips parted, eyes glazed over with lust, lashes fluttering against the tops of her cheeks, her signature scent of orange blossom, vanilla marshmallow and a hint of amber flooding his senses. Her pussy was soaked, dripping down over his thighs, making slick and obscene sounds as she moved. 

“You been practicin’?” he teased, hands sliding over her ass to squeeze.

She moaned, a little laugh escaping in the process. “N-no…just remember what you like.”

He laid a sharp smack to her ass, prompting her to cry out and bounce harder. 

“I like all of you, baby girl.” he leaned up to catch a nipple between his lips, suckling on the swollen nub until she gasped. “Every inch. Every moan. Every fuckin’ part of you.”

He gripped her hips tightly, beginning to thrust up into her as she dropped down, slamming into that sweet spot inside her over and over. Her moans turned into cries, breathy little sobs of pleasure.

“You sound so pretty, Lottie.” Stack growled. “You love daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

“Y-yes yes, baby…’s so good.” Lottie keened, head falling against his neck pressing wet kisses to his throat. He kissed her jaw, then lowered his lips to her collarbone, tongue flicking in between the valley of her breasts.

“Gon’ cum again for me, baby?” he panted, watching as her face twisted up into that beautiful, broken expression.

“Mhm..mhm-oh God yes! Please please don’t stop-“ she babbled senselessly.

He reached in between them to rub fast little circles over her swollen clit with his thumb, her thighs locking up. 

“I got you, baby.” he promised. “Cum for me. Let go.”

And just like that, her body shook. She moaned, loud and high pitched and ragged, thighs shaking as her orgasm hit. Her pussy gushed between them, soaking his lap and drenching his thighs. He caught her mouth in a sloppy kiss, hands rubbing her back while she sobbed softly into his neck. 

“That’s it, baby.” he praised softly. “Did so good for me.”

He moved again, flipping her gently, laying her back across the bench now, folding her thighs to her chest and slid back into her in one fluid motion, groaning at the feel. He started to fuck her slow, hard, deep, each thrust making her cry out, overstimulated and limp underneath him, tears sliding down her cheeks from the corners of her eyes,

“I know, baby…I know it’s a lot,” he cooed, kissing her jaw, her cheek, her lips. “But I need it. I need you one more time okay?”

He pulled all the way out, leaving only the tip inside, then slid back in slowly, dragging a moan from her throat. Then again, faster this time. He pounded into her now, whispering filth against her lips.

“Look at this pussy…she suckin’ me in like she missed me.”

“You milkin’ me girl goddamn..”

“Used to dream about the fuckin’ pussy baby.”

She was a mess now, drooling, sobbing, her words slurring. Lottie bit into his shoulder, nails raking down his back, and every moan she let out made his balls tighten.

“You gon’ give daddy one more?” Stack cooed into her ear, pressing his thumb against her clit.

She nodded frantically, feeling another orgasm burn through her core. “Y-yes! I-i’m close-“

“Give it to me, Lottie. Let her sing for me, baby.”

She sobbed, pressing her forehead to his, lips trembling as she came for the final time. He kissed her hard, tongue claiming her mouth as she milked him.

“I love you, Charlotte.” he moaned. “Always fuckin’ loved you.”

She whimpered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. “I love you too,” she sobbed. “Don’t stop..don’t stop baby.”

“Shhh…” Stack soothed her pleas, fucking up into her in a steady gentle rhythm helping her ride out the aftershocks, now chasing his own edge. “You take me so good baby. You feel so good…I’m gonna…fuck-“

His head dropped to her shoulder. He groaned loudly against her damp skin, shooting warm thick ropes inside her with a few airy moans, cock pulsing as he filled her up.

They stayed still for a moment, skin to skin, the sounds of their heavy pants filling the closet. She peppered soft kisses to his temples, his eyes fluttering closed as he let her ground him back to reality.

“So…still think you don’t deserve me?” she asks after fully catching her breath.

He chuckled, still breathless. “You were always too good for me, Lottie. I’m just still glad you wanted me anyway.”

Her fingers threaded through his curls. “I never stopped…even when I was cursing your name.”

He lifted his head to fully look at her, eyes all round and soft, twinkling with love. He pressed a few soft pecks to her lips and brushed her now messy curls from her glowy face.

They remained in their little bubble of oblivion until they heard three hard knocks on the closet door, causing them to jump.

“Y’all better be decent in 15 minutes before I spray your nasty asses down with this fucking lysol.” Smoke boomed from outside the door. “This ain’t the type of establishment you were advertisin’ to me when we bought this joint, Stack. It was nice seein’ you Lottie…”

The couple remained quiet until they heard his heavy footsteps walking away to break out into a short fit of laughter.

“You think he heard?” Lottie managed to say in between giggles.

“Yeah,” Stack groaned. “He gon’ be on my ass about that.”

She leaned into him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Worth it?”

He looked down at her, seeing her eyes glimmer the way he remembered. “Yeah,” he said with a smile, show casing the gold of his grills. “One hundred percent.”

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[kurohe]

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(Thanks everyone for your help, and for adding things yourself with your reblogs <3)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. Also, resign your amazon prime subscription. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step to not freely give em your data and money

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: imma say this, you should read up on what the risks of stealing are, for you and others. Stealing from big stores is IMO always morally right, but it is risky for many reasons. Be careful)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. Learn how to run fast and fight well.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

(this used to also include getting a gun. I deleted it because i don't feel comfortable recommending this. But it's still an option.)

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[bi-writes]

I feel like now that MOB and Simon are comfy together and truly utterly unbelievably in love, they'd maybe wanna have a wedding. Not in the traditional, big church tons-of-guests way, but like in the dress up, say vows, and show off your love to your loved ones (no matter how few) way. Not cause they need it or cause they feel pressured, but just cause it's be sweet. A beautiful memory for them (and an excuse for MOB to see Simon in a suit and for Simon to see her in a wedding dress yknow?)

mail-order bride

you're nervous.

more nervous than you felt on the way to this house for the first time. sitting in the back of that taxi, one suitcase in the trunk and the cat in the seat beside you, even then, even knowing you were heading to meet a stranger, you did not feel this type of nervousness.

it's deep in your belly. a taut force that tangles your insides, and you try to hide the shake in your hands as you close the small book that holds your vows and pick up the small bouquet on the dresser.

they're daisies, from the garden. simon picked them for you this morning, had woken you up by tucking one of the stems behind your ear. you made sure to add a few to your hair before dressing.

the silk sits perfectly. that shop on the main street had kept your measurements, and when you asked if they could make you something a little more special, you could not have envisioned anything more beautiful.

structured bodice to hold you in, draped in silk that fell over every curve and every line like falling water, in an elegant white that made the sentiment of what today would be all too real.

he's leaning against the doorway to the backyard when you open the bedroom door. you're barefoot, quiet, so it takes him a minute before he notices you.

both of you pause at a reasonable distance when you finally get a good look at each other.

simon looks so handsome. he's all made-up in his dress uniform, a faded green jacket buttoned over slacks with a khaki shirt underneath, but it is tailored to perfect, and the belt around his waist makes him look all the more formal. what really has you swooning is the lovely medals on his chest--lined up in beautiful rows, glinting in the sunlight as he tips the beret he's wearing to eye you carefully.

"christ," simon murmurs, taking both his hands out of his pockets. he clears his throat, shifting in his boots, and he finally holds a hand out for you, beckoning you forward. "wot a bloody sight y'are, luv."

you pad forward, smiling, and when your hand fits in his, you both squeeze, staring at one another with grins that won't fade. he leans forward to pressing his face to yours before making his way outside with you.

there's a seat under the tree, with a small table beside it. there's flowers everywhere, petals across the grass, and you follow simon under the shade as he takes a seat, guiding you into his lap so you both can sit there for a moment.

it's quiet. there's a light breeze making the leaves fall, but the sun is peeking through the clouds, and you can see the cats in the window, staring at you both as they chew between nips of cat grass. you set down your bouquet on the table beside you, settling in simon's lap as you hold the notebook to your chest.

"can...can i go first?" you ask, and simon reaches up to brush a few strands of your hair out of your face. he nods, adjusting you in his lap, and you try not to focus too hard on how much your hands shake as you flip open the little book you're holding.

the first few pages are your first few drafts, scribbled out with messy pen strokes. you settle where your real words begin, somewhere in the middle, jumbled between messy handwriting since you spent so long perfecting it all.

"simon," you start gently, and you relax a little when you feel his hand settle on your lower back, soothing you gently as he listens. "i had no idea what i was getting myself into all that time ago. my entire life, it's felt like...i've felt like i've just been running. running from the things i've always been afraid of. from people that i didn't trust. from the things that have happened and the things i thought might happen. in fact...i felt like if i didn't keep running, something terrible would catch up to me."

one of your hand falls, and simon covers it with his own. the shaking settles, and you continue.

"and then i came here," you whisper. "i-i..." you swallow. "i-i came here, and i ran right into you." you notice a few wet spots on the pages, and you steady your breaths, trying not to focus too much on the wetness you feel along your cheeks. "a-and you caught me."

you look over at him, and he's smiling, dark eyes trained on your clasped hands in your lap. he squeezes, bringing your hand up to his mouth, and you have the courage to keep going when you feel him kiss your knuckles.

"i don't know how we found each other. i-i don't know who knew that this house was mine. i don't know who understood that there was an empty place inside that belonged to me, but i'm here now. a-and i'm not...i'm not going anywhere."

you bend, leaning forward, and you press your forehead to his temple.

"no one has ever loved me the way you do, simon riley. and i-i promise i will try until forever t-to do the same for you."

it hurts. there's a place in simon's chest that physically aches, like a tender wound, squeezing against his ribs as he hugs you close to his body. the time with you is precious. he fears the moment he knows that there is not much left, but that time isn't now, and he cherishes that fact.

he has always carried a sense for those kind of things. he can tell when there is little left, like knowing there is nothing more to drink in canister without shaking it. it's a feeling, one he knows well, but he doesn't feel that with you, not yet, and he will consume every breath he can that he shares with you until then (because when he feels the time waning, he will give you every breath of his that remains if it means you get just one more second of this life).

simon reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small paper. he unfolds it gently, still holding you close, and you cling to the lapels of his jacket as he talks to you in that low, soothing voice of his.

"'m not sure where t'start," simon chuckles. "was hard for me to think of wot t'say t'ya." he takes a small breath before kissing your forehead. "'s hard ta think about wot it was like before i had ya 'ere. only eatin' because i had to. only leavin' the house because the job demanded it of me. like the whole world was a terrible fuckin' grey. so fuckin' quiet, i could hear this nasty ringin' in my ears."

simon crumples the paper a little, and you wrap a hand around the back of his neck to anchor him.

"honest...i thought the job would 'ave me. tha' i'd go out in some reckless sort of way, or maybe i'd just...let it take me with it one day. and when i knew y'were comin', i still thought tha' was how it would be. tha' i'd settle in it alone, on my own, like i always 'ave."

you close your eyes, and you can hear nothing besides his voice.

"thought i'd run outta luck. thought crawlin' out of my fuckin' grave was the last thing that they'd ever give me," he mutters, and you suck in a shaky breath when you hear the paper crumple sharply. "i don't know wot i ever did to deserve someone like you, luv. 'm not good. never 'ave been. the things i've done, wot i've seen, i wasn't meant for good things."

you pull back a little and open your eyes, and simon's own are full of pain. he grips your waist a little firmly, digging his fingers into you there.

"'n ya aren't just good. y'r perfect. like y'were made in my dreams. and still y'r 'ere, and ya haven't left, and..." he swallows. "nothing else matters, swee'eart." his eyes meet yours. big, brown ones, sadness so permeable, striking, an unnerving kind. "family is oll that matters." when your foreheads touch again, you can't stop yourself. his voice is low, gravelly, weighed down by some kind of pain that you'll never understand. simon has pieces of himself that are missing. people from a past life that he tries to keep finding, things that he knows should be here, but will forever disappoint him by no longer being real.

when he puts his hand over your heart, you can't see him anymore, not really. your tears blur your vision.

"y'r all that matters."

when you cut the cake in the kitchen, you feed each other small bites of decadent chocolate, and when you finish, you gift each other the vows you've written, to tuck away somewhere special, to read when the world gets too loud or when the colors of life get washed out by meaningless distractions.

the dance in the kitchen has lasted for minutes or hours, you can't remember. the music is soft, and you're swaying, but time is meaningless when you're looking into simon's eyes.

it is a part of him that will never change. you memorize how they look, because you want to recognize them in every place that you see them. you want to remember them everywhere, now, soon, until time rots the plants above the sink and kills the vegetables in your garden and makes threadbare the kitchen towels on the counter--you want to remember them.

so you can find him in this life, and every other one that comes after.

[riddlesrizzler]

The Great Gatsby

summary: He looked at you the way all women want to be looked at by a man. characters: mattheo riddle. shy! reader. mentions of slytherin boys. warnings: none! just matty going feral. word count: 2.8k

The first time Mattheo Riddle really noticed you-truly noticed you-was when you collided with him outside the library. One second, he was rounding the corner, lost in thought, and the next, someone crashed into his chest, sending papers and books flying across the stone corridor.

You dropped to your knees instantly, murmuring a flurry of apologies as you scrambled to gather your things. He knelt too, fingers brushing against the corner of a worn paperback just before yours did. His eyes flicked over the title-Jane Eyre-the cover cracked and creased from being read more than once. A Muggle book. Not the first he’d seen around lately. And not the last he’d see in your hands.

But what caught his attention more than the title was the way you wrote.

Some of your pages had slipped loose in the fall-notes scribbled in blue ink, dense with thoughts and margins full of underlines and comments. He picked one up out of instinct, pausing as his eyes caught on the handwriting: soft, looping letters that curled at the ends, like you had too much emotion to keep inside the lines. It was delicate but purposeful. You wrote like someone who felt everything. He didn’t realize he was staring until your hand reached out and tugged the paper gently from his fingers.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, cheeks flushed. “That’s mine.”

Your voice was quieter than he expected. Soft, but not meek-like you were always thinking about something bigger than the room you were in. He nodded, but didn’t say anything right away. Just watched you as you stuffed your notes back into a leather-bound folder, arms full of books with titles he recognized only vaguely-Wuthering Heights, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Bell Jar.

Muggle literature. You read it like it meant something. Like it was sacred. No one really talked about Muggle writers at Hogwarts, not unless they were trying to be funny. But you didn’t strike him as the type who cared about what people thought. The way you clutched your books close to your chest, like armor, made that clear.

Then you were gone. Just like that.

You darted away so quickly he didn’t even catch your name, but the image stuck. The too-big sweater. The stack of paperbacks. The way you walked like you were always halfway between this world and another.

-

That night at dinner, he couldn’t get you out of his head. So, when he slid into his usual seat, he turned to Theo and Enzo.

“Do either of you know a Ravenclaw girl? About this tall-” he gestured with his hand, “-always carrying books, kind of quiet?”

Enzo scoffed. “That could be any Ravenclaw, mate.”

Mattheo frowned, thinking. “She, uh… she writes in this particular way. Loops at the end of her words. And she was wearing a cream sweater.”

Theo snapped his fingers. “Oh, you mean her—”

Mattheo’s stomach did something weird. “Her?”

“Yeah, Y/N,” Theo said, nodding toward the Ravenclaw table. “She’s in our classes. Always has a book with her-usually some Muggle thing.”

Mattheo followed Theo’s gaze, and there you were, sitting at the edge of your house’s table, nose tucked deep into a book.

Then, over the next few days, he found himself noticing you everywhere.

In class, he watched how you wrote with a precise hand, the loops at the end of your letters delicate, intentional. He had never paid attention to how people wrote before, but there was something mesmerizing about the way you did.

In the courtyard, he noticed the way you walked-always with books pressed to your chest, a little too lost in thought, always on the verge of bumping into someone.

And in the library-Gods, the library-you were in your element. Tucked away in a quiet corner, curled up in your usual oversized sweater, eyes glued to the pages of yet another Muggle book.

It was your quietness that fascinated him the most. It wasn’t timid-it was purposeful, like a storm contained just beneath the surface. And Mattheo, against all odds, found himself wanting to get caught in it.

-

Mattheo leaned against the edge of the Slytherin table, arms folded, jaw tense. His eyes weren’t on his food, or his housemates, or the usual chaos of the Great Hall. They were on you.

You sat near the end of the Ravenclaw table, half-lit by the enchanted ceiling’s pale morning sky. You were curled slightly toward a thick, well-worn book, completely absorbed, as though the world around you barely existed. Your fork rested untouched beside your plate, forgotten in favor of whatever world you’d escaped into. The soft knit of your uniform sweater hung delicately off one shoulder, and strands of hair fell across your cheek, unnoticed as you turned another page.

You hadn’t even noticed him watching you. You never did.

But Mattheo noticed everything.

The way your thumb smoothed down the page before you turned it. The way you tugged at your sleeve when you were thinking. The small furrow between your brows when the world inside your book grew tense. And he remembered the way your papers had spilled across the corridor floor just days ago-crisp parchment, your ink dark and deliberate, curling loops at the ends of your letters like lace. Muggle literature, from the titles he'd glimpsed. Shakespeare. Woolf. Something about that had lodged itself deep in his mind.

You fascinated him-and that wasn’t something Mattheo Riddle was used to.

“I’m going to talk to her,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute.

The words left him before he’d really meant to speak.

Across from him, Enzo let out a startled choke on his pumpkin juice. Theo, who had been lazily spinning his wand between his fingers, paused mid-twirl to raise an eyebrow.

“Mate,” Theo said slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Why?”

Mattheo kept his arms folded, but there was something different in his eyes-something sharp and uncertain. “Because I want to.”

Enzo snorted. “You want to? Since when do you want to talk to anyone that’s not one of us?”

“She keeps avoiding me,” Mattheo muttered, gaze fixed. “And I don’t get why.”

Theo leaned back, skeptical. “Maybe because you always look like you’re one spell away from setting the room on fire?”

Mattheo’s jaw twitched. “I do not.”

“You made a second-year cry just by looking at him,” Enzo reminded, deadpan.

“That was different.”

Theo gave him a look. “So, what’s your move? Glaring at her until she falls for your brooding charm?”

Mattheo didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets with practiced ease.

“Watch and learn.”

He crossed the Great Hall with purpose, boots echoing off the stone floor. His eyes never left you.

He thought-hoped-that once he was closer, once you saw that he wasn’t all sneers and shadows, maybe you’d stop running. Maybe you’d talk to him.

But the moment he approached, you stilled. It was subtle, but he caught it-the slight rise of your shoulders, the way your hand froze over the page mid-turn.

Then, as if his presence physically repelled you, you snapped your book shut, shoved it into your bag, and left the hall without so much as a glance.

Mattheo stood there, stunned.

His outstretched hand-intended for a casual greeting-hung awkwardly in the air for a beat before he lowered it, his brows pulling together.

“What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath.

From behind, laughter erupted.

Enzo clapped once, mock applause echoing off the walls. “Absolutely majestic effort, Riddle. Smooth as ever.”

Mattheo gritted his teeth. “Piss off.”

—

The next day, he saw his second opportunity.

You were already seated in Charms when he walked in, bag slung over one shoulder, curls messy from the wind. He slid into the desk beside you without hesitation, stretching his arm along the back of the shared bench, leaning slightly in your direction.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking toward you.

You didn’t look up.

But you did go still-again. He could see your fingers tighten around your quill, your shoulders inch higher.

Progress, he thought.

But then, without a word, you stood. Calm. Silent. Collected. You gathered your things, walked three desks down, and resumed your notes like nothing had happened.

Mattheo sat there, blinking at the now-empty space beside him. Dumbfounded.

Theo, seated just behind, leaned forward with a knowing smirk. “Didn’t I literally warn you?”

Mattheo didn’t respond. He just leaned forward, elbows on the desk, jaw clenched as he stared at the back of your head.

—

By the time Transfiguration rolled around, he was growing restless.

When Professor McGonagall paired the two of you together, Mattheo felt something spark in his chest-hope, maybe. Finally, you had to talk to him.

Except, you didn’t.

You barely acknowledged him.

Your spellwork was flawless-each movement practiced and elegant, your flicks precise, your incantations barely whispered. You flipped through your textbook with silent focus, scribbling notes in your neat, looping handwriting.

He watched the way your hand moved, remembered the pages from the corridor floor-the delicate tails at the ends of your letters, the almost lyrical way your words formed.

But still, you never looked at him.

Never spoke.

Mattheo sat there, utterly ignored, watching you move like a storm in a bottle-controlled, contained, distant.

When the class ended, you were out the door before he could stand.

Gone. Again.

He slumped back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair.

“She really doesn’t want to talk to me,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Theo, not missing a beat, leaned over from his desk with a smirk. “Looks that way, mate.”

But Mattheo didn’t flinch.

If anything, he looked more determined.

Because now it wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just intrigue. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

You could keep slipping through his fingers.

He’d just learn how to hold on tighter.

-

The library was quiet.

Not the usual, restless hush filled with the soft rustle of parchment or the scratch of quills. No whispered gossip or passing footsteps. This silence was heavier-reverent, almost sacred. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like velvet and made even the breath in your lungs feel like an interruption. The kind of silence that didn’t just muffle sound-it devoured it.

And then, there was you.

Curled into the corner of the farthest alcove, half-hidden behind a column of bookshelves. You were nestled into the window seat, the pale winter light spilling across your features, bathing you in a soft, otherworldly glow. Your knees were drawn to your chest, one hand cradling an open book, the other absently tugging at the fraying sleeve of your sweater. You looked like you belonged in another century. Fragile. Untouchable. Entirely unaware of the pair of eyes watching you from the shadows of the aisle.

He looked at you the way all women want to be looked at by a man.

And maybe you didn’t see it-but if you had, it would’ve stopped you in your tracks. Because there was nothing cold or calculating in his gaze. Only awe. Only wonder. As if you were something he’d been searching for without even knowing it.

Mattheo stood perfectly still, the air around him charged with something he couldn’t name. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him here-why his feet had followed your path through the castle, why his eyes had tracked your every movement since that first collision in the corridor.

You had crashed into him like a gust of wind-fast, flustered, unintentional. He could still remember the exact moment: the stack of books tumbling from your arms, the startled widening of your eyes as you met his gaze, your breath catching like you'd touched something hot. He had crouched to help, ready for a soft thank you, maybe even a nervous apology.

But you’d gathered your things in one sweeping motion and disappeared before he could so much as speak. No words. No second glance. Just the scent of parchment and something faintly floral left in your wake.

Since then, it had become a pattern.

You’d appear like clockwork-quiet, consistent, always on the edge of the room. In class, you wrote with a deliberate grace, the ends of your letters curling like ivy. In the courtyard, your fingers were always wrapped around a book, the sleeves of your sweater pulled down past your knuckles. And here, in the library, you sank into the same chair for hours, slipping between chapters like falling through time.

You had always been there.

He just hadn’t seen you.

And now that he had, he couldn’t seem to look away.

He took a careful step forward.

And that’s when your gaze lifted.

Your eyes met his-and something in you stilled. A single heartbeat passed. Then, like a thread snapping, your body went taut. Without a word, you snapped your book shut, gathered your things in practiced efficiency, and vanished between the shelves before he could take another breath.

Mattheo was left in your absence, his pulse racing for no reason he could name.

He dragged a hand through his curls, jaw clenched in frustration-until he saw it.

A book.

Left behind on the table in your rush to escape.

He moved toward it slowly, fingers brushing the cracked spine like it was something sacred. The title was embossed in gold, barely visible beneath the wear of countless readings.

The Great Gatsby. A Muggle book.

His brow furrowed as he flipped through the pages, noting the underlined sentences, the faint pencil scribbles in the margins-your handwriting. Gentle loops, soft corrections, small stars drawn next to lines that must have meant something to you. It wasn’t just a book. It was yours.

Mattheo stared down at the worn pages, his mind already spinning with a plan.

If Gatsby had thrown lavish parties just to be seen by Daisy… Then maybe Mattheo Riddle could read Muggle literature to be seen by you.

-

That night, he read.

It started as a way to return your book. But before he realized it, he wasn’t reading for you anymore-he was reading for himself.

The story dug into him. Gatsby wasn’t just hopelessly in love-he was haunted.

Possessed by a past that no longer existed, convinced that if he could just make enough noise, just shine brightly enough, he could pull the future into place. Mattheo understood that. The desperation. The hunger for control over something that would never truly belong to you.

By the time the sky outside began to soften with dawn, Mattheo had devoured every word.

And not just read it-annotated it.

Scribbled thoughts in the margins. Circled sentences. Drew lines between themes like he was cracking a code. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until Enzo’s groggy voice broke the stillness of the dormitory.

“Mate,” Enzo grumbled, squinting through the early light. “What the hell are you doing?”

Mattheo didn’t look up. He just smiled to himself.

-

The next day, he found you again.

You were in the courtyard, your figure half-bathed in sunlight, sitting on a stone bench pressed against a wall covered in ivy. A fresh book in your hands, eyes trained on the pages like you were afraid of what the real world might offer in comparison.

This time, when he approached, your eyes flickered up-and lingered.

You didn’t run.

And that hesitation, that split-second pause, felt like a victory.

He sat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world, one leg casually hooked over the other, his arm slung along the back of the bench-not quite touching you, but close enough that you felt the heat of his presence.

“So Gatsby was an idiot,” he said, tone light but calculated.

You blinked, caught off guard. “…What?”

He smirked. “Throwing parties for a girl who didn’t even show up? That’s tragic. Pathetic, even.”

You stared at him, brow furrowed, trying to make sense of his presence, of his words, of him.

Mattheo leaned back, eyes fixed on you. “I get it, though. He wanted to be noticed. Thought if he made enough noise, she’d come back to him.” A pause.

“But that’s the thing about fantasies. They only work if you stay asleep.”

You were silent for a beat, the wind brushing strands of hair across your cheek.

“She did love him,” you said softly, gaze drifting back to the page. “Not the way he wanted. But she did.”

Mattheo tilted his head, watching the way your eyes darkened. “Still chose Tom in the end.”

Your hands tightened on your book, jaw set. “You read The Great Gatsby?”

He shrugged, feigning indifference. “Got about twenty pages in and decided to annotate it. Thought maybe it’d help.”

Your lips parted slightly-surprise flickering across your features like light on water.

And then, for the first time, you smiled.

It was barely there, just a soft quirk at the corner of your mouth, but Mattheo felt it like a thunderclap. Like the first warm breeze after a long winter.

And you didn’t run.

Not this time.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 1

General Masterlist fratboy!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future. A/n: omggg my first series!!! i'm so so so excited for this one, i literally wrote this sooo fast cause i was soooo excited! i hope you all like this too! let me know any feedback you may have. Thanks to my one and only @eileenrry for being my designated proof reader 💖 Word count: 3.4k Warnings: This part has a lot of angst, and the series WILL HAVE smut, so +18 (not on this part tho). Mentions of alcohol, smoking, betrayal.

“Do you want to sit with me?” Said a soft voice, tiny, cutest at it’s best. Your tiny hands were clenched around the straps of your oversized backpack, and even though you were small too, everything around you felt impossibly big—the chairs, the poster boards on the wall, the toys lined up in the back of the room. You felt like the smallest, quietest flea. You weren’t the kind to make noise; you liked to keep to yourself, tucked safely behind your mother’s legs, where the world couldn’t quite reach you.

So when your parents sat you down and said you’d be moving to another city, the world tilted. Everything became a blur of cardboard boxes and goodbyes. You had to choose which plushies to keep, which ones to let go—and somehow, even at that age, you knew those choices mattered. You were so young, but you remember it like it was yesterday. Not just because it was the first time life ever truly scared you, but because it was also the beginning of something. Because that’s how you met Harry.

So when that tiny voice said, “Do you want to sit with me?” you turned your head and saw him—a curly-haired boy with big green eyes and lashes so long they looked like they’d been painted on. He was just looking at you, calm and curious. And all you could do was nod and take the empty seat beside him.

His table was a mess of color and chaos—crayons scattered everywhere, a pencil poorly sharpened on both ends, and an eraser that had once been white but was now stained with every color imaginable. His workbook lay open, half-filled with scribbles and drawings, and across the top in big, uneven letters, it read: Harry.

“Y/N,” you whispered, barely louder than a breath, unsure if he even heard you.

He glanced up, then gave a small nod and a crooked smile. He didn’t say anything, but it was enough. He seemed a little shy too—not as much as you, of course—but just enough to make you feel like maybe you weren’t alone.

🌷

Shy questions turned into giggles soon enough. It turned out you had more in common than you ever expected—both from different cities, both fans of mixing vanilla and strawberry ice cream, and both a little hopeless at math. It was the kind of quiet connection that didn’t need much explaining; it just was.

"Can you lend me the pink crayon?" he asked, eyes focused on the page in front of him, carefully coloring inside the lines of his workbook.

"No," you said, without hesitation.

He looked up, clearly offended. "Why not?"

You shrugged, holding the crayon a little closer. "Because it’s my favorite one."

He blinked at you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to be mad—then smiled like he’d just learned something important about you.

🌷 The class pictures from the early years of middle school began to pile up, slowly forming a little bundle alongside birthday snapshots and silly, candid moments. What once were debates over whether dolls were better than dinosaurs had turned into whispered promises of being best friends forever.

There was a problem with that. It was called high school—or maybe it was called hormones, or growing up, or feelings, or the chaos of social interactions. It was trying alcohol for the first time, coughing behind Harry’s house after taking a sip that burned too much. It was wheezing with laughter after trying a cigarette he somehow managed to swipe from an old lady at the bus stop.

There were countless school dances where the two of you showed up as best friends—even when a girl got the courage to ask Harry, and he politely turned her down. It was like a secret everyone knew, yet somehow, not fully spoken. Something unconfirmed, but undeniable. You two were untouchable in the eyes of the rest of the school—not in a popular, flashy way, but in a quiet, unbreakable one. No one ever teased you about being a couple, but, They knew. Harry knew.

You? You were a bit oblivious.

And then it happened—at a definitely not parent-supervised party—your first kiss. His first kiss. But not with each other.

"Y/N! Your turn!" called Aria —the redheaded girl who, after Harry, was the one you trusted most. She was the one you talked to about period stuff, what to wear, the latest makeup trends, and gossip about the newest hot celebrity.

You looked at the bottle spinning in front of you. Classic. You weren’t even sure why you agreed to join the game in the first place—but then again, most teenagers don’t really know why they say yes to things at parties. Especially when alcohol is disguised as “Just flavored water, Dad, I swear.”

The bottle spun in what felt like slow motion—maybe because of the flavored water in the red cup you were holding, or maybe because you were too busy scanning the circle, trying to figure out which of the guys would be the least awful choice for your first kiss. Of course, there was Harry—though at the time, you were completely oblivious to how nervous he looked. You wouldn’t have minded kissing him; actually, in the roulette spinning inside your head, he was your first choice. But not because you wanted to kiss him—more like, because you really didn’t want to kiss any of the others.

When the bottle finally stopped, the tip pointed at Phil. You gave a small, nervous smile. Not because it was Phil. Not even because it wasn’t Harry. Just because it was your first kiss. And as the group broke into a chorus of “oooh!”s, you leaned in and had it—your first kiss.

It was short. Dry. No spark. Just a kiss.

And kind of the same thing happened with Harry.

When it was his turn, the bottle also seemed to spin in slow motion—at least for you. Your brain kicked into the same overthinking mode, running through the roulette of girls he could possibly kiss. The only one you didn’t mind was Ivy—the shy new girl who was moving away soon, so it didn’t really matter in the long run. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until the bottle landed on her, and you exhaled quietly, telling yourself it was fine.

What you didn’t stop to question was why you’d been thinking all of that. Or why your chest felt tight and hot with jealousy when you watched Harry lean in and press his lips to Ivy’s.

It was quick. Innocent. But still, it stung.

After the kiss, Harry didn’t even glance at Ivy. He looked straight at you. And you looked right back, both of you smiling—soft, uncertain. No words needed. At this time it was like you both telepathically communicated. The OMG we just had our first kisses. It was written all over your faces.

As time passed and 10th year rolled around, everything seemed pretty normal between the two of you—or at least, you thought it was. Nothing about Harry felt off. Nothing seemed different. Until that one Math class.

"The next assignment will be in pairs. Choose and write your names on this list on your way out," the teacher announced. The classroom erupted in whispers and shifting chairs as everyone scanned the room for their ideal partner. But you didn’t even glance around—you didn’t need to. You and Harry were always partners. Always. It was just a given.

But then, you heard his voice beside you. Heard the sound of his finger tapping on Theo’s shoulder in front of him. And then the words that made your stomach twist.

"Do you want to be partners?" Harry asked.

Theo looked just as confused as you felt. He even glanced back at you for a second, like he was waiting for some kind of explanation. But you had nothing to offer—your face mirrored his.

"Uh… yeah?" Theo replied, hesitant.

"Perfect. I’ll text you after school," Harry said with a shrug, already moving on.

You sat there, mouth slightly open, heart racing with that slow, creeping sting of being blindsided.

"What was that?" you asked.

"What was what?" he said, feigning innocence—but you knew him too well. He knew exactly what he did.

"Why did you ask Theo? What about me?"

He shrugged again. "What about you?"

"What—Harry, we’re always partners."

"I know… it’s just..." He sighed. "We’re both kinda bad at math, and I figured I should pair with someone who can, you know… help me out a bit."

You stared at him. That wasn’t the truth. Not fully. You knew it. You felt it.

But the clock was ticking, and you didn’t have time to process it—let alone find a partner who wasn’t a complete disaster. So you swallowed it. The confusion. The hurt. The shift. And kept moving.

You tried to brush it off the first time. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But then it happened again. And again. And again. Then he transferred to different classes entirely. Each time came with the same excuse: “I’m just trying new things.” You questioned him—of course you did. Over and over. But it was all nonsense. Every conversation either turned into a fight or ended with one of his hollow, careless excuses.

So you stopped. You decided not to waste any more time chasing someone who clearly didn’t want to be caught.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Him sitting at different tables during lunch? Level 1. Choosing other people for group assignments? Not answering your texts? Level 2. Taking a completely different route home just to avoid walking with you? Level 3. Laughing—no, giggling—like he was having the time of his life with people who weren’t you? Level 4.

There were tears. So many tears. And there were questions. A constant, suffocating loop of them. Was it something I said? Something I did? Was I a bad friend? But no answer ever came. Just more silence. And more tears.

You weren’t technically alone. You had other friends. But you didn’t have Harry. You didn’t have the one who could read you with a glance. The one who could sense your mood from just the tone of your “hello” in the morning. You didn’t have the one you wanted.

Harry wasn’t there anymore. Not for the 3 a.m. calls when you couldn’t sleep. Not to debrief the daily drama. Not to groan through math class or whisper jokes behind textbooks. And worst of all…As time passed, he wasn’t there for your first heartbreak. He wasn’t there for prom. He wasn’t there to hold your hand when you both tossed the graduation caps into the sky.

He was gone.

🌷

It wasn’t really a surprise when you both looked up and locked eyes in the same introductory group on the first day of college.

Neither of you had talked about which colleges you were applying to. Neither of you knew what the other wanted. Because by then, communication had been reduced to absolutely nothing—0%. Silence and space had taken over. So no, it wasn’t exactly shocking when you ended up in the same college. Same career path. Same group. Because the truth was—you’d always been similar.

You’d dreamed similar dreams. Wanted similar things. And no matter how hard you tried not to be, you were always pulled in by each other’s gravity. Even if you didn’t want to admit it. Even if you swore you were over it. Even if you told yourself it didn’t matter anymore.

There he was. Harry.

And suddenly, the air between you was thick with everything unspoken.

Either of you could’ve asked to transfer. Changed groups. Switched classes. Taken the easy way out.

But neither of you did.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the silent, mutual attempt to prove there was nothing left between you. That you were both mature enough. That you could handle being around each other. Just classmates. Just two people, casually coexisting in the same space.

But the truth?

The truth was that something deeper—something neither of you could name or admit—was keeping you both exactly where you were. You swore it was you just being mad but maybe there was a kind of magnetic pull that wasn’t strong enough to bring you together, but just strong enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t even tried to talk to him, or even look at him, always avoiding as much as you could, 

Your roommate, Juliet, noticed it from day one. The way your entire posture shifted when Harry entered the room. And of course, how you never actually looked at him, not for longer than a blink.

Juliet was bold, blunt, and had a talent for digging into things you weren’t ready to unearth.

“You two have history,” she said one night, cross-legged on her bed, spooning peanut butter out of the jar like it was therapy. “You don’t flinch like that for someone you barely know.”

You rolled your eyes. “We used to be friends. That’s all.” not even bothering to look up from the book in your hands

“Right,” she said, dragging the word out like it had a hundred letters. “And I ‘used to be’ a vegetarian”

She didn’t let it go. She was always trying to get you to talk to him. “Just say hi like a human,” she’d whisper. Or “What’s the worst that could happen? You explode?”

But she didn’t know the weight of it all. She didn’t know that silence between you and Harry wasn’t empty—it was loaded. History, hurt, heartbreak—all packed into every glance, every ignored moment.

Still, Juliet was relentless. And part of you—maybe the part that still remembered how it felt to laugh with him—was kind of glad she was. Beneath all that pain and being mad at it, there he was your Harry, your best friend.

You stopped going to college parties. At first, it was subtle. A few “maybe next time”s.A couple of “I have a headache”s. But Juliet caught on fast.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said one Friday night, standing in front of a mirror, fixing her hair while you curled up under your blanket like it was a shield. “You’re not going because of him, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because the idea of walking into a room and locking eyes with Harry—of pretending you didn’t notice each other, or worse, pretending you were fine—made your stomach twist.

“I just don’t want it to be awkward,” you muttered.

Juliet scoffed. “It’s college. Everything’s awkward. You think Harry’s out there dancing on tables and living his best life?” She paused. “He never goes either, you know.”

That made you sit up and frown “What?”

“I’ve literally never seen him at a single party. Not even the ones his friends throw,” she said. “You two are like magnets repelling each other, except you’re both convinced the other one wants nothing to do with you.”

You stayed quiet, but her words stuck. Because you hadn’t considered that maybe—just maybe—he was avoiding it too. Not because he didn’t want to see you… But because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Of course it was. He was Harry.

That realization didn’t make things easier. It just made your heart ache in a different way.

🌷

It was just another Thursday. Gray skies outside the window, students half-asleep in their chairs, laptops open but barely touched. You were already zoning out when Professor Merrick’s voice cut through the hum of the classroom.

“For your next assignment,” she said, tapping a stack of handouts on her desk, “you’ll be creating a personal narrative. Think of it as storytelling with a purpose—an exploration of the moments that have shaped you.”

You blinked. “What kind of moments?” someone asked from the back.

“Anything that’s changed you,” Merrick replied. “A loss. A revelation. A success story. A moment of heartbreak or clarity. Something real. Something raw.”

A collective groan passed through the room.

“And,” she added, lips twitching into the faintest smile, “you may do it solo, or… in pairs. Your choice. But if you choose to work with someone, the project must reflect both stories—how they intersect, mirror, or clash.”

You felt your stomach drop. This was the kind of assignment you hated. Not because you couldn’t do it, but because you could. You had too much material. And you knew exactly what your story would be… if you were brave enough to tell it. You didn’t look at Harry, who sat two rows across and one seat behind. But you could feel him. That weird awareness that never really went away.

Juliet leaned over, whispering, “You’re doing it solo, right?”

“Obviously,” you whispered back, already scribbling ideas down just to look busy.

But still, your heart thudded louder than before. Because even if you hadn’t looked at Harry, he had looked at you.

Professor Merrick began passing the handouts down each row, but you barely glanced at the paper when it reached your desk. The words blurred together—“personal narrative,” “emotional depth,” “authentic voice”—all sounding a little too close to home.

“As always,” she said, stepping back in front of the board, “I’ll be sending the full assignment details to your emails this evening. Requirements, due dates, guidelines—all there. This is not just about writing well. It’s about honesty. And trust me, I’ll know when it’s not real.” A low murmur rippled through the class again.

“You have until Monday to choose whether you’re working solo or with someone. If you pick a partner, let me know by then. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re flying solo.” She smiled faintly, but there was something knowing in her expression.  Like she enjoyed watching students squirm under the weight of their own unspoken stories.

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped the floor as people stood up, stretching and groaning. You shoved the handout into your bag without a second glance.

Juliet nudged you as you walked out. “Maybe this is your sign.”

You frowned. “Sign for what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “To tell the story you’ve been dying not to tell.”

You didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed your mind. And because behind you, Harry was still sitting at his desk, staring at the same sheet of paper you hadn’t read either.

🌷

Days later, you were curled up on your bed, laptop perched on your knees, the soft hum of lo-fi music playing from your phone. The Word document on your screen was still blank—just a blinking cursor mocking you, waiting for the first sentence that refused to come.

You had typed and deleted the same line four different times. Nothing sounded right. Nothing felt right. Your story was too tangled. 

And then, like some cruel joke, your email pinged.

New Message: STORYTELLING PROJECT CLASS 305 — Personal Narrative From: Harry Styles To: Class 305

You stared at the subject line, confused. You hadn’t spoken in weeks—not even a polite nod in the hallway. Why would he be—

Then you clicked.

And everything shifted.

The message wasn’t meant for you. It wasn’t meant for the whole class. It was clearly written for one person—Noah. He was asking if Noah would be his partner, saying he didn’t want to do the project alone.

“I was thinking of writing about losing my best friend. Her name’s Y/N. She’s also in the class. I was in love with her. I never told her. I pushed her away because I thought if I kept my distance, the feelings would fade. But they didn’t. I made it worse, got out of my hands, I lost her anyway. But of course i can’t mention her name or make it too obvious it’s about her so i figured i could use a partner to help”

Your heart stopped. Again.

“Anyway, It was my fault. I thought I was protecting something, but I ended up breaking it. I don’t know if your story’s anything like that. Just figured I’d ask. Also, can I get your number?”

You sat frozen. For a second, your brain refused to process what your eyes had read. The story. The feelings. The name. Your name.

And then you realized it—he had clicked Reply All. You weren’t supposed to see this. No one in the class was supposed to see this.

You blinked, staring at your screen in disbelief, heart pounding loud in your chest. It was like someone had dropped a confession straight into your lap, and now you didn’t know what to do with it.Because the problem wasn’t that Harry had sent it everyone

The problem was…Everything in it was true. PART 2

Taglist: @hermionelove

[bu3ck3r]

new beginnings

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 12k

a/n: another one shot from anons idea that y’all really wanted me to write so there you go. tysm for all the sweet dms and asks it means the world to me so im looking forward to get some new ones from y’all after this one. now go read and tell me how was it!

the late summer light was spilling lazily across their living room, turning everything a soft gold. the hum of the city outside had faded into the background, like a world paused just for them. inside, it was quiet — not awkward quiet, but the kind that only existed between people who really knew each other. who loved each other down to the tiniest heartbeat.

paige was tucked into the corner of the couch, legs stretched out, one bare foot hooked over azzi’s thigh. her head rested gently against azzi’s shoulder, fingers brushing lightly at the hem of her shirt, just for the comfort of it. her other hand cradled a half-drunk mug of tea, long forgotten.

azzi had a thick folder open in her lap — the kind you only got from clinics and specialists, full of timelines, questions, and options that all felt bigger than the page. she wasn’t reading anymore, just staring at it.

paige shifted, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of azzi’s shoulder.

“you thinking about it again?” she murmured.

azzi nodded, not looking away. “yeah.”

they had talked about it a dozen times already. more. sometimes in between games, sometimes curled up in hotel beds or walking around farmers’ markets like they weren’t two of the most recognizable athletes in the league. they had danced around the idea of starting a family for a while — quietly, seriously, carefully.

now it was real.

“i don’t know why it still feels so big,” paige said, voice low. “we’ve planned for this. we want this.”

“it is big,” azzi said softly. she leaned in, nuzzling azzi’s cheek. “but we can handle big things.”

paige finally turned to look at her, eyes filled with something tender and nervous. “do you think we’re really ready?”

azzi smiled and scooted closer, climbing fully into paige’s lap like it was the easiest answer in the world. she wrapped her arms around her neck, forehead pressed to hers. “i think if we waited for ‘ready,’ we’d never do anything. but i know we’re in this together. so yeah. i’m ready if you are.”

paige sighed, but it came out more like a laugh, warm and relieved. she closed the binder slowly, letting it fall to the table beside them, and wrapped her arms around paige’s waist.

“okay. let’s do it.”

azzi’s smile widened. paige pressed a soft kiss to azzi’s lips, lingering for just a second. “we’re really doing it.”

the days that followed were a mix of nerves and planning. they visited the clinic, sat through appointments, answered a million questions. they decided azzi would carry — a decision they had made gently, together, after lots of talking and more than a few late-night cuddles.

paige was the organizer. the steady one. she’d hold azzi’s hand through every blood test, scribble notes in her phone, research every hormone injection and supplement with military-level focus.

“i trust you,” azzi told her one night, after paige had just labeled a dozen syringes. “like… completely.”

“good,” paige said, teasing as she climbed into bed beside her. “because i’m pretty sure i could give you a shot blindfolded at this point.”

“please don’t.”

“okay, okay.” she laughed, then pulled azzi into her arms. “no blindfold. but i am gonna hold you while you fall asleep.”

they laid like that for a while, paige gently tracing shapes on azzi’s back. there wasn’t always talking. sometimes it was just quiet breathing and the comfort of knowing they were in the same rhythm.

their bedroom became a kind of quiet headquarters — boxes of meds lined up on the dresser, a calendar taped beside the mirror, paige’s handwriting everywhere. she iced azzi’s stomach every night before the shots, always gentle, always focused.

sometimes she’d kiss the spot after, even when azzi flinched. “for good luck,” she’d say.

and azzi would laugh, a little shaky, a little tired, but full of love.

they stayed close — always touching, always connected. spooning on the couch. holding hands in waiting rooms. paige would rub azzi’s back when she got anxious, kiss her forehead when she felt worn down.

and every night, they’d fall asleep tangled up in each other, wrapped in love and hope and the quiet knowledge that no matter what came next, they were doing this together.

the clinic was quiet that morning, bathed in soft light and hushed voices, like the universe was holding its breath right alongside them. azzi sat on the edge of the exam table, her hand tucked tightly in paige’s, their fingers laced together like always. it was warm in the room, but paige still noticed the way azzi’s other hand rubbed lightly over her arm, trying to soothe nerves that were impossible to shake.

“you okay?” paige asked softly, leaning in to nudge her shoulder gently against azzi’s.

azzi nodded, but her smile was a little tight around the edges. “yeah,” she said. “just… you know. it’s a big day.”

paige leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, then lingered, brushing her nose against azzi’s cheek. “we’re gonna be okay,” she whispered. “we’re doing this together.”

the doctor walked in a few moments later, explaining the transfer process again in calm, practiced tones. azzi nodded through it all, listening carefully, but never letting go of paige’s hand. when the moment finally came, paige stepped to the side, giving azzi one last kiss on the forehead and whispering, “i love you so much,” before letting the staff do their work.

it was over quickly. almost too quickly for how big it felt.

afterward, azzi rested in recovery for a while, and paige climbed into the small space beside her on the cot, wrapping her arms around her from behind. she pulled azzi close, her chin resting in the crook of her shoulder. they didn’t speak for a while, just breathed in sync, hearts beating side by side.

“i feel different already,” azzi joked after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper.

paige laughed softly, kissing the back of her neck. “definitely glowing,” she teased.

but even in the laughter, there was a stillness in their bodies — the calm before the storm of waiting. the next few days would be the hardest. they’d done everything right, followed every instruction, prayed every night before bed, whispering hope into the darkness. now, all they could do was wait.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the next few days passed in a haze of distraction. they watched too many movies, cooked together even when they weren’t hungry, and spent long hours curled up on the couch with their hands resting lightly over azzi’s belly. it was always paige who initiated it — that instinct to protect, to connect — but azzi never stopped her.

“do you think she can hear us yet?” paige asked one night, their apartment glowing with soft yellow light. azzi was stretched out on the couch, her head in paige’s lap, a blanket tucked around her shoulders.

“not even close,” azzi laughed, looking up at her. “but maybe she can feel the love.”

paige bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “there’s a lot of that,” she said.

on the fourth day, azzi had a breakdown in the kitchen. it came out of nowhere — she was just making tea, standing barefoot in her sweats, and suddenly the mug slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. the sound startled them both, but it was azzi’s tears that broke paige’s heart.

“i don’t know why i’m crying,” she said through a shaky breath, crouching down to pick up the pieces.

paige was at her side in an instant, gently taking her hands and pulling her away from the glass. “baby, don’t,” she said, voice soft but steady. “i’ll clean it up. just sit, okay?”

she guided azzi to the stool and knelt in front of her, wiping at the tears falling down her cheeks with gentle thumbs. “you don’t need a reason,” paige whispered. “it’s a lot. it’s okay to feel it.”

azzi leaned forward, burying her face in paige’s shoulder. “i’m scared it didn’t work,” she said, her voice muffled. “and i’m scared of how much i want it to.”

paige held her tighter, arms wrapping all the way around her like she could shield her from the fear. “me too,” she admitted. “but whatever happens, i’m here. always.”

they stayed like that for a long time — just holding each other in the quiet, breathing in and out, riding the wave of emotion together.

when the testing day finally came, they couldn’t sit still. azzi paced the hallway while paige sat on the edge of the bed, the unopened test in her lap.

“do you wanna do it?” paige asked after a while, looking up.

azzi stopped pacing and looked at her, eyes wide and soft. “i want you to.”

so paige did.

the minutes dragged on after that — long, breathless, aching moments where the world felt too quiet and too loud all at once.

they waited curled up together on the bed, holding hands, their foreheads pressed together. neither of them spoke.

then the timer went off.

the silence in the room felt almost suffocating as azzi sat on the edge of their bed, the test lying on the table in front of her. she hadn’t said anything for the last few minutes, too afraid to even look at the result. it was paige who broke the silence, her voice soft but tinged with the same vulnerability azzi had been feeling ever since they started this journey.

“are you ready, babe?” paige asked, her tone gentle, but her hand was trembling slightly as it rested on azzi’s shoulder. she leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of azzi’s head. the comforting gesture was familiar, but it didn’t ease the weight pressing down on both of them.

azzi swallowed hard, glancing at the test but not quite having the courage to check it yet. she could feel the anxiety building in her chest, the quiet hum of nerves that came with waiting for a life-changing result. the hope they’d both carried so confidently throughout the process was now beginning to feel fragile, like a string stretched too thin.

“i’m not sure,” azzi whispered, her voice shaky. “what if it’s—what if it doesn’t work?” she turned to paige, her heart pounding at the thought of seeing those two little lines still absent from the test.

paige sat down next to her, wrapping her arm around azzi’s waist and pulling her close, her cheek resting against azzi’s hair. “if it doesn’t work, we try again. we’ll keep trying,” paige said, her voice soft but firm. “we’re in this together, okay?” she kissed the side of azzi’s head gently, feeling the warmth of her presence seep into her own body.

azzi leaned into the embrace, the comfort in paige’s words settling over her like a gentle wave. but she could still feel the gnawing doubt in her chest, the fear that maybe, just maybe, this would be the time it didn’t work. what if they were never meant to be parents? the thought lingered in her mind, and the pressure of it was almost too much to bear.

paige tilted azzi’s chin up so their eyes met. “don’t worry. we’re gonna be moms, azzi. i believe it. we just need to be patient. we’ll get through this.”

azzi nodded, though her eyes glistened with uncertainty. “i’m scared, paige. i want this so much, and i don’t know what to do if it doesn’t work.”

paige’s hand cupped her face, the tenderness in her touch soothing the raw emotions swirling inside azzi. “it will work. maybe not today, but soon. we’re strong. we’ve got each other, and that’s all we need.”

the words were simple, but they meant everything to azzi. she wanted to believe them, wanted to feel the same certainty paige did, but the fear of failing was hard to push away. still, the warmth of paige’s embrace helped, grounding her in the present moment. they were in this together, no matter the outcome.

finally, with a deep breath, azzi reached for the test. her hands shook slightly as she picked it up, but she felt paige’s steady presence beside her. together, they turned it over.

negative.

azzi’s breath caught in her throat, the sharp sting of disappointment hitting her like a punch to the gut. she didn’t even have to say the words; the emptiness on the test told them everything.

paige’s arm tightened around her immediately, pulling her close as she whispered, “it’s okay, honey. we’ll try again. we’ll keep trying. i’m not going anywhere.”

azzi let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears as she pressed her face against paige’s chest. “i don’t know if i can do this again, paige. i feel like i’m letting you down.”

paige gently pulled back, cupping azzi’s face in her hands with soft fingers. “you’re not letting me down,” paige said, her voice thick with emotion. “not even a little bit. i love you, and we’re going to be parents. it’s just… it’s just going to take time.”

“but i feel like it’s all my fault,” azzi whispered, her voice muffled as she tried to hold back her tears.

“no, no, it’s not your fault. we’re in this together. and you’re not letting me down. we’ll go through this as many times as we need to,” paige assured, kissing azzi’s forehead gently. “i don’t care how many tries it takes. we’ll do it together, okay?”

azzi nodded, though the tears she had been holding back began to spill down her cheeks. paige wrapped her arms around her again, holding her tightly, letting her feel the warmth of her love and support. this moment, as hard as it was, was just another chapter in their journey — not the end.

paige pressed a kiss to azzi’s temple, her voice soft but determined. “we’ll get there, i promise. i love you.”

“i love you too,” azzi murmured into paige’s chest, letting herself surrender to the comfort of her embrace. “thank you for being here.”

they stayed like that for a long while, just holding each other, breathing in the shared rhythm of their hearts. paige didn’t feel the need to say anything else. the silence between them wasn’t empty; it was filled with the promise of all the moments they would continue to face together.

finally, paige broke the silence, her voice quiet but full of warmth. “how about we just stay here for a little bit? no pressure, no rush.”

“i like that idea,” azzi replied, her voice small but filled with relief. “just… us.”

“just us,” paige echoed, pressing another kiss to azzi’s forehead before settling back against the bed, holding her close.

there was no rush. no pressure. just the two of them, and that was enough for now.

the days seemed to blur together for paige and azzi as they navigated the uncertain waters of ivf. what had once felt like a distant dream had now become their reality, filled with appointments, procedures, and endless hope. but through it all, their connection remained their anchor—each step of the way, they leaned on each other.

one evening, as the cool breeze from the open window kissed their cheeks, azzi lay on the couch, her head resting on paige’s lap. paige absentmindedly ran her fingers through azzi’s hair, the rhythmic motion calming her as much as it did paige.

“i think i could do this forever,” azzi said softly, her eyes fluttering closed as she enjoyed the moment of peace.

paige smiled, brushing a gentle kiss to azzi’s forehead. “you and me, just like this, with our baby. it’s all coming together.”

“do you think it’ll happen soon?” azzi asked, her voice laced with a touch of uncertainty. she was trying to stay hopeful, but the process had worn on her more than she had expected. some days, the emotional weight felt too heavy to carry alone.

“i believe in us,” paige said, her voice firm but gentle. “we’re meant to be parents. it’s just a matter of time, azzi. we’ve been through so much already, and look at how strong we are.”

azzi smiled, lifting her hand to azzi’s cheek. “i know. it’s just… sometimes i feel like i can’t take the waiting anymore. it feels like we’re doing everything right, but still nothing’s happening.”

paige took azzi’s hand in hers, holding it to her chest. “we’ll get through this together. every step of the way, i’m with you. we’ve got this. our family is coming, i know it.”

azzi felt a warmth spread through her chest as paige’s words sank in. she could see the quiet determination in her wife’s eyes—the same determination that had gotten them both through the tough moments on the court, the same determination that made her believe they could face anything together.

“i love you,” azzi said, her voice thick with emotion. “i don’t know what i would do without you.”

paige leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to azzi’s lips. “you don’t have to do anything without me. we’re in this together, always.”

as they pulled back, the moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of azzi’s phone buzzing from the coffee table. she groaned softly and picked it up, glancing at the screen. it was a text from their fertility doctor.

“we have another appointment tomorrow,” azzi said, her voice laced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. “more tests. they want to check everything before the next step.”

paige nodded, her hand never leaving azzi’s. “we’ll go together. every appointment, every step. you’re not alone in this.”

“i know,” azzi whispered, leaning back against the couch. “it’s just… it’s hard sometimes to not feel like it’s my fault. like i’m doing something wrong, and that’s why it’s taking so long.”

“azzi, you have nothing to feel guilty about,” paige said, her voice unwavering. “this isn’t your fault. it’s just the way the process works. we’re doing everything we can, and that’s all we can do. the doctors are guiding us, and we’re taking it one day at a time. we’re doing this together, remember?”

azzi nodded, feeling a wave of comfort wash over her. “i know. it’s just… i want this so badly. i want to give you a child, paige. i want to see you hold our baby in your arms.”

paige smiled softly, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of paige’s hand. “i want that too, so much. and i know we’ll get there. it may not be fast, but when it happens, it’ll be worth everything. we’ll be ready.”

the next day, they sat side by side in the sterile, brightly lit waiting room of the fertility clinic. azzi fidgeted in her seat, tapping her foot nervously against the floor. paige sat beside her, her calm presence a stark contrast to azzi’s jitteriness. paige placed a hand over azzi’s, offering silent support.

“i can’t do this alone,” azzi muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “i just want it to be over. i want to know what happens next. the uncertainty is killing me.”

paige turned to her, a soft smile on her face. “i’m right here with you, remember? no matter how long it takes. and whatever the doctors say, we will handle it as a team.”

azzi squeezed paige’s hand, her nerves slowly starting to calm. paige always knew what to say to bring her back to the present, to remind her that they were strong, that they had each other, and that they would get through whatever came next.

the doctors assistant called them into the back, and they followed her into the examination room. paige took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. as the doctor came in and began the routine checks, paige and azzi exchanged a quiet look—a silent promise that they would face whatever news came together.

after the appointment, they were given a small glimmer of hope. the doctor said things looked promising, that they were on the right track, but it wasn’t guaranteed. paige could see the weariness in azzi’s eyes, the same exhaustion she felt deep in her own bones. but as they left the clinic together, their hands still tightly entwined, azzi realized something that made her heart swell with love—no matter how hard this journey was, they would always have each other.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden light through their living room window. azzi sat on the couch, a cup of tea in her hands, watching as paige moved around the kitchen, preparing their dinner. the familiarity of the moment felt comforting, a rare reprieve from the whirlwind of doctor appointments, procedures, and waiting.

it had been weeks since their last round of ivf, and the waiting had only grown more difficult with each passing day. both of them were exhausted—emotionally and physically—but tonight felt different. there was a quiet anticipation in the air, a hopeful energy that neither of them had been able to shake.

paige glanced over at azzi, offering her a soft smile. “how are you feeling?” she asked, her voice gentle.

azzi shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. “i’m okay. just… nervous, i guess. i keep thinking about the last time, and i don’t know what we’re going to do if it doesn’t work.”

paige walked over, sitting next to her and taking her hand. “we’ll handle it. we’ve handled everything else together. this is just another chapter in our story, azzi.”

azzi looked at her, the calmness in paige’s eyes giving her a sense of reassurance. they had been through so much already—both in their personal lives and their careers. this was just another challenge to overcome.

“i know,” azzi whispered, leaning into paige’s shoulder. “i just wish it was easier, you know? i wish it wasn’t so hard to get here.”

paige kissed the top of her head, wrapping her arm around azzi’s shoulders. “it’s hard, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. you’re worth it, azzi. we’re worth it. every step we take, we’re one step closer to what we want.”

azzi nodded, her fingers tightening around paige’s hand. she had never doubted their love for a second, but there were moments when the uncertainty of the ivf process made her question whether they were truly on the right path. the emotional toll was heavy—especially when it felt like every step forward was met with another setback.

“i just want to see you holding our baby,” azzi murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “i want to see you be a mom. i know you’ll be amazing.”

paige smiled softly, brushing her fingers through azzi’s hair. “and i want to see you holding our baby too, azzi. you’ll be an incredible mom. i believe in you.”

their gaze locked, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. it was just the two of them, anchored by their love and the promise of a future together. they didn’t have all the answers yet, but they knew they were in this together, and that was enough.

later that evening, as they settled into bed, the quiet was soothing. azzi lay with her head on paige’s chest, her hand resting on paige’s stomach. paige’s steady heartbeat was a comforting rhythm beneath her ear.

“do you ever think about what it will be like when it happens?” azzi asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

paige smiled, the warmth of her touch calming azzi further. “every day. i think about the day we’ll finally get to bring our baby home. i think about the little things—the first time they smile at us, the first time they say ‘mommy’.’”

azzi closed her eyes, imagining that future. the thought of a child—her child—filled her heart with a sense of peace she hadn’t known in a long time.

“we’ll be great moms,” azzi said, her voice filled with certainty. “i just know it.”

paige chuckled softly, kissing the top of azzi’s head. “we already are, in every way that matters.”

the conversation faded into a comfortable silence, and they drifted off to sleep, holding each other close. the journey was far from over, but in that moment, everything felt right. they had each other, and that was all they needed to face whatever came next.

the morning arrived with a mixture of nerves and hope. azzi had woken up early, unable to sleep the night before, her mind racing with thoughts of what the day might bring. today was the day they would find out if the ivf treatment had worked.

paige was still asleep beside her, her breathing steady and peaceful. azzi took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside her. they had been through so much to get here, and now, it all came down to this moment. she didn’t want to wake paige just yet; she knew how hard the waiting was for both of them.

azzi slipped out of bed and quietly walked to the bathroom. she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection for a long moment. she wasn’t sure what she was expecting—maybe something different, something more certain. but there was nothing, just the woman who had been through a journey of highs and lows, standing at the edge of another unknown.

taking another deep breath, she opened the small box that had been waiting on the counter—an at-home pregnancy test. she had told herself she wouldn’t get her hopes up, but now, with the test in her hands, the weight of the moment settled in. she closed her eyes for a brief second, saying a silent prayer, then followed the instructions.

the next few minutes felt like an eternity. azzi paced back and forth, biting her lip nervously. when the time was up, she walked over to the counter, her heart in her throat. she didn’t dare look at the test until she felt the steady, comforting presence of paige standing behind her.

“azzi?” paige asked softly. “what’s going on?”

azzi turned around slowly, her heart racing. with trembling hands, she held up the test.

a moment of silence passed.

then paige smiled.

“are you serious?” she whispered, her voice full of disbelief and hope.

azzi nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “i think… i think we’re pregnant.”

paige pulled her into a tight embrace, her hands cupping azzi’s face as she kissed her softly. it was a kiss filled with relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. after all the struggles, all the uncertainty, they had made it. their dream was finally coming true.

they stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their journey—one they would face together, side by side, just as they always had.

as the joy of the moment washed over them, paige pulled azzi in closer, her hands resting on her growing belly. they had both waited so long for this, and now that it was real, it felt surreal. the air between them was charged with excitement, but there was a deep sense of peace too. everything they had gone through had led them here, and now they were ready to embrace the future.

“we’re really gonna be parents,” paige said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes glistening with tears. “we’re really going to have a baby, azzi.”

azzi laughed softly, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen down paige’s cheek. “i can’t believe it. i feel like i’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment. and now it’s here. we’re going to be moms, together.”

“i can’t wait to see you as a mom,” paige murmured, leaning in to kiss azzi gently on the lips. it was a soft, tender kiss, full of promise and love.

after a long moment, paige pulled back, her hand resting on azzi’s stomach. “this is just the beginning, azzi. i don’t even know what to expect, but i know we’ll figure it out. together.”

“together,” azzi agreed, her fingers intertwining with paige’s. “i couldn’t ask for a better partner in this. i’m so lucky to have you by my side.”

paige chuckled, her fingers lightly grazing over azzi’s belly. “i’m the lucky one. i’m going to be here for every moment, every step of the way. i’ll be with you, no matter what.”

azzi grinned, resting her hand on top of paige’s. “you promise?”

paige nodded, kissing the top of azzi’s head. “i promise.”

the two of them stood in the kitchen for a while, wrapped up in their own world, completely absorbed in the excitement and joy of the moment. azzi leaned against the counter, and paige came to stand beside her, her arm slipping around azzi’s waist as they gazed at each other, smiles never leaving their faces.

“can you imagine it?” azzi asked softly, her hand gently resting on her stomach. “our baby’s first steps, first words… all the little moments we’ll have with them.”

paige’s heart melted at the thought. “i can’t wait to see their first smile. and i’m sure they’ll be just as beautiful as you.”

“you really think so?” azzi raised an eyebrow playfully.

paige laughed, her hand reaching up to cup azzi’s cheek. “absolutely. you’re the most beautiful person i know, inside and out. our kid’s going to be perfect.”

the two of them stood there for a while, just talking about the future—about the little things they couldn’t wait to share with their child. paige had always been so certain in her life, but in this moment, with azzi by her side, she realized how much more certainty there was in the unknown. they didn’t need to have every answer right now. they had each other, and that was enough.

“i know i say this all the time,” paige said softly, “but i’m so proud of us. we’ve been through so much, and here we are. we’re going to be parents.”

“we’ve come so far, haven’t we?” azzi replied, her voice filled with awe. “i think i’m just realizing that we’re actually doing it. we’re making this dream come true.”

paige smiled, pressing a soft kiss to azzi’s forehead. “we sure are. and i can’t wait to take this next step with you.”

they laughed, and azzi leaned into paige, her arms wrapping around her. “i’m so glad i have you.”

paige kissed the top of azzi’s head, holding her close. “and i’m glad i have you, baby.”

they stood there, savoring the moment—the warmth of each other’s embrace, the excitement bubbling between them. there would be tough times ahead, there always were, but in this moment, they felt invincible. they were starting a family, and there was no one else they would want to go on this journey with.

as the evening came to a close, they sat down on the couch together, holding hands, their hearts full of love and hope. it was a quiet moment, but one that spoke volumes about their future.

“let’s just enjoy tonight,” azzi said, her voice soft and content. “we’ve got all the time in the world ahead of us.”

paige smiled, nodding. “yeah, let’s enjoy tonight. because this is our new beginning.”

they sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that their journey was just beginning. together, they were ready for whatever came next.

the weeks after azzi’s positive test were a whirlwind of emotions, doctors’ appointments, and quiet moments of joy. it felt like the world was spinning faster than usual, but for paige and azzi, it was a different kind of whirlwind—the kind they had waited for, the kind that made everything else feel worth it.

azzi had settled into the early stages of her pregnancy with surprising grace. she had always been strong, but now, she felt like her strength was coming from a new place—her growing baby, the tiny miracle they had prayed for. the first few months were tough, with the usual morning sickness and bouts of fatigue, but she powered through with paige by her side.

one evening, as the sun dipped low in the sky, they sat on the couch, azzi curled up with her head resting against paige’s shoulder. paige had her arm around her, her fingers tracing lazy circles on azzi’s arm. they had fallen into an easy rhythm of support and love, each day feeling like a gift, even when things were difficult.

“i’m so proud of you,” paige whispered, her voice soft as she looked down at her wife.

azzi smiled up at her, her hand resting gently on her stomach. “i’m just doing my part,” she said with a grin. “but i couldn’t do it without you. you’ve been amazing through all of this.”

paige kissed the top of azzi’s head, her heart swelling with emotion. “we’re a team, always. i just can’t wait to see you holding our baby, azzi. i want to see you be the incredible mom i know you’ll be.”

azzi’s eyes softened, and she placed her hand over paige’s. “and i can’t wait to see you holding our baby too, paige. you’ll be an incredible mom.”

for a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breaths and the quiet hum of the world outside. it was moments like this that reminded them of how far they’d come. from their first tentative steps into the ivf process, to this moment, where their dream was becoming a reality, they had overcome so much together.

but there was still a long road ahead. the uncertainty of the next few months loomed, but neither of them was willing to let it steal their joy. they had each other, and that was all they needed.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

weeks later, the day of their first ultrasound arrived, and paige and azzi couldn’t contain their excitement. the thought of seeing their baby on the screen, even just as a tiny little speck, felt surreal. they had been dreaming of this moment for so long, and now, it was finally happening.

azzi sat nervously in the waiting room, her leg bouncing as she flipped through a magazine. paige sat beside her, her hand resting on azzi’s knee, offering her a quiet comfort. she knew how anxious azzi was; she could feel it in the way she fidgeted and in the slight tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“are you okay?” paige asked softly.

azzi smiled at her, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “i’m fine. just… nervous, i guess. i keep wondering if everything’s going to be okay. i don’t know what i’ll do if something’s wrong.”

paige squeezed her knee gently. “we’ll face it together. and i know everything is going to be fine.”

azzi nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she leaned into paige. “thanks, babe. i know. i just… really want this to be okay.”

the nurse called them in, and azzi took a deep breath as they stood up together. they walked into the ultrasound room, the cool air and sterile environment doing nothing to ease the nerves swirling inside them.

the technician smiled at them warmly as she instructed azzi to lie back on the table and lift her shirt. paige stood beside her, holding her hand tightly.

“are you ready?” the technician asked.

azzi nodded, but paige could see the nerves in her eyes. she leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to azzi’s forehead. “i’m right here, baby. let’s see our little one.”

the technician applied the gel to azzi’s stomach and began the ultrasound. the machine hummed to life, and soon, a blurry image appeared on the screen. paige’s heart stopped for a moment as she saw it.

azzi gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she looked at the screen. “is that… is that really our baby?”

paige’s voice was thick with emotion. “it’s our baby, azzi. that’s them.”

the technician smiled, pointing to the screen. “that’s your baby’s heartbeat. everything looks great so far.”

paige and azzi exchanged a look, a look that said everything without a single word being spoken. their baby was real. they were going to be parents. and in that moment, the world felt like it was exactly as it should be.

after the appointment, they walked out of the clinic hand in hand, both of them feeling a quiet joy that was almost too big to contain. the road ahead would still have its challenges, but in this moment, everything was perfect.

as the days passed, the pregnancy continued to progress smoothly. azzi’s belly began to round out, and with every passing day, the reality of what they were about to embark on hit them harder. the thought of bringing a child into the world, of raising a family together, felt both exhilarating and humbling.

one evening, as they lay in bed, paige traced circles on azzi’s stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall as their baby kicked lightly beneath her fingers.

“do you think they’re going to be a little athlete?” paige asked, her voice playful.

azzi chuckled softly, her hand resting over paige’s. “i think they’ll be whoever they want to be. but if they do end up playing basketball, i’d love to have a little teammate.”

paige laughed, her heart full of affection. “i’d be okay with that. as long as they don’t beat me at hoops when they get older.”

azzi grinned. “we’ll see. we’ll have to train them properly.”

they shared a quiet laugh, and then the room fell into a peaceful silence. it was moments like this, when it was just the two of them, that felt the most precious. they had come so far, and while the journey wasn’t over, they were closer than ever to the life they had dreamed of.

azzi leaned over and kissed paige softly on the lips. “i love you so much paige.”

paige smiled, her eyes filled with love. “i love you more. we’re going to be amazing parents.”

and with that, they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, their hearts full of hope and excitement for the future.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the excitement of hearing the news that azzi was pregnant still hadn’t fully settled into their hearts. paige and azzi spent the next few days in a blissful haze, savoring the joy that had eluded them for so long.

one evening, as they were sitting together on the couch, paige rested her head on azzi’s shoulder, feeling a sense of calm and contentment she hadn’t known in years.

“you know,” paige said softly, “i’ve been thinking a lot about what comes next.”

azzi turned her head, her eyes soft and full of warmth. “what do you mean?”

“i mean, what’s it going to be like when we actually have the baby?” paige asked. “what’s our life going to look like?”

azzi smiled, her fingers gently running through paige’s hair. “i’ve been thinking about that too. i imagine us waking up in the middle of the night, tired but so happy. i picture us taking turns with late-night feedings and just… loving our kid more than anything in the world.”

paige laughed lightly, her voice full of emotion. “you think you’ll be able to handle the late nights?”

“i think we’ll be okay,” azzi said with a grin. “we’ve handled a lot worse, right?”

paige nodded, her gaze softening as she stared at their intertwined hands. “yeah, we’ve been through a lot. but i think we’ll handle this too. i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

there was a sense of peace in the room as they let the moment settle between them. despite everything that had been uncertain, they knew this much was true: they were ready for whatever came next.

as the days went by, paige and azzi dove into the preparations for the arrival of their child. they painted the nursery, picking out soft, calming colors that would make the room feel like a peaceful haven. they spent hours debating over baby names, laughing at each other’s suggestions and finally settling on a name that felt perfect for their little girl: zaliyah. it meant “close to god,” a name that resonated deeply with both of them, especially after everything they had gone through.

as their due date grew nearer, azzi’s belly began to round out, and it became even more real. paige couldn’t help but marvel at the sight, her hands gently resting on azzi’s stomach as they shared quiet, tender moments.

“i can’t believe how much we’ve already been through,” paige whispered one evening, brushing her lips against azzi’s temple.

azzi smiled, placing her hand over paige’s. “i know. but i wouldn’t have done it with anyone else. we’re so close, paige. i can feel how much our lives are about to change.”

“and i wouldn’t want anyone else by my side,” paige said, her voice thick with emotion. “you’re everything to me.”

the weeks continued to fly by, and with each passing day, the anticipation grew. they spent time together in the evenings, making sure they stayed connected, keeping their bond strong as they prepared for the whirlwind of parenthood.

finally, the day came. azzi’s water broke in the middle of the night, and the calm, quiet night turned into a flurry of activity. paige, though tired, remained steady as they rushed to the hospital.

the drive was a blur of emotions. paige’s hands were sweaty as she held azzi’s hand tightly, her heart racing as they pulled up to the hospital.

azzi smiled through her contractions, squeezing paige’s hand in return. “we’re almost there,” she said, her voice full of quiet confidence.

“you’re doing amazing,” paige reassured her, leaning in to kiss azzi’s forehead.

once inside the hospital, the next few hours felt like a whirlwind. there were doctors and nurses coming and going, the rhythmic sounds of heartbeats and monitors, and the constant hum of activity around them. through it all, paige and azzi stayed close, never letting go of each other’s hands, speaking softly to each other, and offering gentle reassurances.

when the time came, azzi was exhausted but strong, pushing through each contraction with the same determination that had seen her through so many obstacles before. paige never left her side, whispering words of encouragement and comfort in her ear.

finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sound of their baby’s first cry filled the room.

“it’s a girl,” the nurse announced with a smile.

azzi’s tears flowed freely as paige kissed her, overwhelmed with emotion. they had made it. their dream had come true.

“zaliyah,” paige whispered, the name feeling like a prayer on her lips. “she’s here.”

azzi looked at her, her eyes brimming with love and exhaustion. “she’s ours. she’s perfect.”

and in that moment, they both knew that no matter what challenges they faced ahead, they had already built something beautiful and strong together. their family had grown, and their hearts were full of love.

the first few days after zaliyah’s birth were a blur of emotions and sleepless nights. the hospital room was filled with the quiet hum of machines and the soft coos of their newborn daughter. paige and azzi were in awe of the tiny life they had created together, and every small moment felt like a miracle.

the first time zaliyah curled her tiny fingers around paige’s hand, paige couldn’t help but tear up. it was a small, simple gesture, but it felt like everything they had been through had led to this moment.

“she’s so perfect,” paige whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she held zaliyah close.

azzi, sitting beside her, smiled softly. “yeah. she really is.”

as the days passed, the new parents settled into a rhythm. there were the usual sleepless nights and the endless feedings, but they also found joy in the little things. the way zaliyah would yawn so adorably after every nap, the sound of her tiny giggles when paige made funny faces at her, and the way her eyes would lock with theirs as if she already knew how loved she was.

one evening, as they were getting ready to put zaliyah to bed, paige gently rocked her in her arms, humming a soft lullaby. azzi stood by the crib, watching them with a soft smile.

“she’s already so much like you,” azzi said, her voice full of affection.

paige raised an eyebrow. “really? how so?”

“she has your eyes,” azzi said with a grin. “and your sense of calm. it’s like she knows exactly what she wants.”

paige chuckled, looking down at their daughter. “well, she is a little bundle of energy. but i think she’s going to be just like you—strong, determined, and full of love.”

azzi walked over and gently stroked zaliyah’s tiny head. “i can’t wait to see her grow up. to see the person she becomes.”

“me too,” paige said softly. “but for now, i’m just going to enjoy these moments. they grow up so fast.”

the next morning, zaliyah woke them up with her usual cries, and as always, paige was the first to jump up, already used to the sound of their baby’s early-morning demands. azzi, however, was content to stay in bed for a few extra minutes, smiling lazily as she watched paige move about the room.

“you’re amazing, you know that?” azzi said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

paige glanced over at her with a playful grin. “i’m just doing my part, mama. someone’s gotta get up and take care of our little girl.”

azz smiled. “yeah, but it’s like you were made for this. you’re so good with her.”

paige’s heart swelled at the compliment. “you’re good with her, too, you know. i’m lucky to have you by my side.”

they shared a moment, paige gently kissing azzi on the forehead before heading to zaliyah’s crib to scoop her up. paige couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person alive. they were building a beautiful family, one small moment at a time.

the first time they took zaliyah out for a walk in the stroller, paige and azzi both marveled at how small she looked in the oversized seat. they strolled down the street, holding hands, their eyes focused on their daughter, who was sound asleep under the soft, striped blanket.

“i can’t believe how much our life has changed,” paige said softly, her voice full of wonder.

“i know,” azzi replied, glancing at paige with a smile. “it’s crazy, isn’t it? i feel like i’ve known you forever, and yet, this feels so new. like we’re just starting this whole new adventure together.”

paige squeezed her hand. “i wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. i’m so glad it’s you.”

“me too,” azzi said quietly.

the days turned into weeks, and before they knew it, zaliyah had grown into a curious little girl. her first smile made them both laugh so hard, it was as if the world had suddenly brightened. and her first laugh? it was pure magic.

“i can’t believe how much she’s growing,” paige said one evening as they both watched zaliyah play with her toys, her tiny hands reaching for new things.

“i know,” azzi agreed. “it feels like she’s changing every single day. i want to savor every moment.”

they sat in silence, watching their daughter, both of them so deeply in love with her and with each other. these quiet, simple moments were the ones they would remember forever. moments that made all the struggles they had faced worth it.

as they got zaliyah ready for bed that night, paige leaned over to kiss azzi’s cheek. “i’m so happy, azzi. so happy we’re here, with her.”

azzi kissed the top of paige’s head. “me too. we’ve built something beautiful, haven’t we?”

paige nodded, her eyes shining with love. “the most beautiful thing.”

they tucked zaliyah into bed, their hearts full of love and gratitude. as they turned off the lights and closed the door to the nursery, paige and azzi stood in the hallway for a moment, hand in hand.

“this is just the beginning,” paige whispered.

azzi smiled, leaning into paige’s side. “yeah, just the beginning.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

life with zaliyah was everything paige and azzi had dreamed of, and more. every day brought new challenges, but also new joys. the sound of her giggles, the way her eyes lit up when she saw them, and her tiny hands reaching out for them all filled their hearts with a love they never knew was possible.

one sunday afternoon, the family decided to take zaliyah to the park for her first outing. it was a beautiful day—the sun was shining, and the air was warm but not too hot. paige packed a picnic basket, and azzi grabbed the stroller, both of them excited to show their little girl the world beyond the walls of their home.

“do you think she’ll like it?” paige asked as they made their way to the park, pushing the stroller between them.

“of course,” azzi said with a smile. “she’s going to love it. the world is just waiting for her to explore.”

paige smiled, her heart swelling with love for her little family. they arrived at the park and found a quiet spot beneath a large tree. they laid out the blanket and sat together, enjoying the simple pleasure of being outside, surrounded by nature.

zaliyah, bundled up in a cute little outfit, seemed content as she gazed around, her eyes taking in the new sights and sounds. every now and then, she’d let out a soft coo, and paige and azzi would both look at her, smiling.

“this is perfect,” paige said softly, leaning her head on azzi’s shoulder. “i can’t believe how much joy she brings into our lives.”

“i know,” azzi replied, her arm around paige’s shoulders. “it’s like everything we went through was worth it for this moment. for her.”

they spent the afternoon at the park, just enjoying each other’s company. they laughed, played with zaliyah, and talked about their hopes for the future. paige was already thinking about the kind of mother she wanted to be, the lessons she hoped to teach zaliyah, and the adventures they would have as a family.

“i want to take her everywhere,” paige said as they packed up to leave. “i want to show her the world, let her experience everything.”

“i love that idea,” azzi said, squeezing paige’s hand. “we’ll give her the best life we can.”

back at home, things settled into a routine. the days blended together with feedings, nap times, and playtime. paige and azzi reveled in the quiet moments—zaliyah falling asleep in their arms after a long day, the soft sounds of her breathing as she nestled against them. they’d whisper to each other in the silence of the night, sharing their thoughts, hopes, and dreams for their daughter.

one evening, as zaliyah was nestled in her crib, paige and azzi sat together on the couch, their hands intertwined. azzi rested her head on paige’s shoulder, and they both stared at the photos of their little girl displayed on the wall.

“we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” azzi said softly.

“yeah,” paige replied, her voice thick with emotion. “it feels like everything we went through led us to this. to her.”

“i wouldn’t change a thing,” azzi said, looking up at paige with a smile. “not one thing.”

paige kissed the top of azzi’s head. “me neither. i’m so glad we’re doing this together. i couldn’t ask for a better partner in all of this.”

“same here,” azzi said, her voice filled with love. “we make a good team.”

paige laughed softly. “we really do.”

as the days went by, zaliyah continued to grow and change. her first words were a source of pride for both parents—“mama” came first, followed by “mommy,” and the house was filled with laughter every time she said them.

“did you hear that?” paige exclaimed one morning when zaliyah called out “mama” for the first time.

“she’s getting so big,” azzi said, smiling with pride. “before we know it, she’ll be running around and talking in full sentences.”

paige smiled, watching zaliyah with a heart full of love. “i just want to savor every moment. i don’t want to miss a thing.”

“me neither,” azzi agreed, her hand resting on paige’s.

life with zaliyah was full of wonder, and every day brought something new. they celebrated every milestone, no matter how small, and cherishing each moment became their top priority. they made memories, took family photos, and spent every spare minute wrapped up in the joy of being together.

one night, as they put zaliyah to bed and kissed her goodnight, paige and azzi stood in the doorway of her nursery, watching their daughter sleep peacefully in her crib.

“i can’t believe how much we’ve grown,” paige whispered.

“i know,” azzi said, her voice filled with tenderness. “we’ve built a beautiful life.”

paige nodded, resting her head on azzi’s shoulder. “we really have. and i wouldn’t want it any other way.”

they stood there for a few more moments, savoring the peace of the night and the beauty of their family. it wasn’t always easy, but it was always worth it.

together, they had created something beautiful—a family built on love, trust, and the strength of their bond. and they were ready for whatever the future had in store.

as time passed, life with zaliyah continued to be filled with joy, but there were still challenges that tested paige and azzi’s patience and strength. parenthood, while beautiful, was not always easy. the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the constant juggling of responsibilities—it could be overwhelming at times.

one evening, after a particularly long day, paige and azzi sat on the couch, both exhausted. zaliyah had finally fallen asleep after hours of fussing, and the house was quiet for the first time in hours. they didn’t say anything at first, simply sharing the peaceful silence between them.

“you okay?” azzi asked, her voice soft as she reached for paige’s hand.

paige let out a tired sigh. “i’m just… tired. i love her so much, but some days are harder than others.”

“i know,” azzi said, squeezing her hand. “parenthood is a rollercoaster. we just have to remember we’re in this together.”

paige nodded, resting her head on azzi’s shoulder. “i know. i just feel like i’m not always doing enough.”

“hey,” azzi said gently, turning to face her. “you’re doing more than enough. we both are. we’re doing our best, and that’s all that matters. she’s happy, healthy, and she knows she’s loved. we’re doing the right thing.”

paige looked up at azzi, her eyes filled with emotion. “you’re right. i just need to remind myself of that more often.”

“we all have moments of doubt,” azzi said, brushing a strand of hair from paige’s face.

the reassurance in azzi’s words settled paige’s racing thoughts. they had faced so much together already, and they had proven time and time again that they could get through anything. parenthood, with all its ups and downs, was just another chapter in their journey.

as the days passed, paige and azzi learned to adapt to their new life. they found a rhythm that worked for them, balancing work, family, and time for themselves. they started taking turns with the late-night feedings and diaper changes, supporting each other every step of the way.

they also made time for their relationship. every few weeks, they’d have a date night—sometimes it was a quiet evening at home, other times it was a night out, just the two of them. they made sure to nurture their bond, knowing that a strong relationship was the foundation for everything else.

one evening, after putting zaliyah to bed, paige and azzi curled up on the couch with a glass of wine. it was their way of unwinding, of taking a break from the chaos of daily life.

“i was thinking,” paige began, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, “we should plan a vacation. just the three of us.”

azzí raised an eyebrow. “a vacation? where?”

“i don’t know,” paige said with a smile. “maybe somewhere quiet. the beach, or a cabin in the mountains. just somewhere we can relax and recharge. i think we could all use it.”

“that sounds perfect,” azzi said, leaning in to kiss paige’s cheek. “we’ve been so focused on everything else that we haven’t had a chance to just enjoy ourselves.”

“exactly,” paige agreed. “i want us to make memories, not just work through the challenges.”

they spent the rest of the evening discussing their ideal vacation, making plans for the future and dreaming of the adventures they would have as a family.

months passed, and zaliyah continued to grow. she was walking now, babbling words, and her curiosity about the world seemed endless. every day brought new discoveries—new milestones, new firsts, and new ways that she made their hearts burst with pride.

one afternoon, paige and azzi took zaliyah to the park again, this time to watch her take her first steps. they’d been practicing for a few weeks now, encouraging her to stand, to take tiny steps, but she had always been a little hesitant.

“come on, baby girl,” azzi said, holding zaliyah’s hands as she stood up. “you can do it.”

paige knelt down in front of her, holding out her arms. “come to mama, zaliyah. you can do it.”

zaliyah looked from one parent to the other, a look of determination in her eyes. she took a small step forward, then another, and before they knew it, she was walking toward them, her tiny feet unsteady but full of purpose.

“look at her!” paige exclaimed, her heart swelling with pride.

azzí couldn’t help but smile, her eyes bright with emotion. “she’s doing it. she’s really doing it.”

zaliyah took a few more wobbly steps and then fell into paige’s arms, giggling with delight.

“you did it!” paige said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “i’m so proud of you.”

“she’s growing up so fast,” azzi said softly, her voice full of awe.

paige nodded, holding zaliyah close. “it’s like every day she becomes more independent, more confident. it’s amazing to watch.”

“it is,” azzi agreed, wrapping her arm around paige’s waist. “we’re doing a good job, aren’t we?”

paige smiled, leaning her head against azzi’s shoulder. “the best job.”

as they watched zaliyah explore the park, taking in her surroundings with wide-eyed wonder, paige and azzi realized just how much their lives had changed since that first day they brought her home. the challenges had been many, but so had the rewards.

they had created a life full of love, laughter, and joy. and as they stood there, hand in hand, watching their daughter take her first steps into the world, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, as a family.

as the months went by, the days seemed to blur together, a mixture of quiet mornings and lively afternoons filled with the sounds of zaliyah’s laughter and endless curiosity. paige and azzi, while both still adjusting to the whirlwind that was parenthood, felt like they were growing into their new roles with every passing day. there were moments of struggle, of course, but in between those moments, they found joy in the simple things.

one friday afternoon, after a long week of work and childcare, azzi suggested they take zaliyah to the park again. it had become their weekend tradition, a way to unwind as a family. the sun was shining brightly, the air warm with the promise of spring, and the park was full of families enjoying the day.

zaliyah, now almost a year old, had become more confident in her walking and was eager to explore. she toddled ahead, her little feet kicking up grass as she ventured further from paige and azzi, her eyes wide with wonder at everything around her.

“look at her go,” paige said, a proud smile on her face as she watched their daughter move around with such joy.

azzi squeezed her hand. “she’s growing up so fast. i can’t believe how much she’s changed in such a short time.”

paige nodded, watching zaliyah curiously eye a group of ducks near the pond. “i know. it feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital.”

“i still remember that moment,” azzi said softly, her voice full of affection. “it was the most perfect moment of my life. and it just keeps getting better.”

they both watched zaliyah giggling as she tried to waddle closer to the ducks, her tiny arms reaching out to touch them. they were amazed at how much she had already learned and how she was becoming such a little person, full of personality and curiosity.

“do you think we’ll ever stop worrying?” paige asked, her voice soft as she wrapped her arm around azzi’s waist. “i mean, when she’s grown up, will we still be hovering over her, hoping she’s okay?”

azzi smiled, kissing the top of paige’s head. “i think that’s just what parents do. we’ll always worry, but we’ll also always be there to guide her, protect her, and love her.”

paige smiled, a sense of peace washing over her. “yeah, i guess you’re right. we’ll always be there for her.”

zaliyah, after a moment of observing the ducks, turned and stumbled back toward them. her chubby cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her tiny hands were outstretched as she returned to her parents.

“come here, sweet girl,” azzi said, bending down to pick her up. “did you see the ducks?”

zaliyah giggled and reached up to touch azzi’s face, her little fingers brushing against her cheek.

paige’s eyes filled with emotion as she watched azzi cuddle their daughter. it was moments like these that reminded her of how far they had come, of the life they had built together, and the family they had created.

later that afternoon, as the sun began to set, they sat on a blanket in the park, eating sandwiches and watching zaliyah play with a ball. she giggled each time it rolled away from her, her laughter a pure sound of joy.

as the evening came to a close, they gathered their things and began to walk back to the car. zaliyah, now yawning and rubbing her eyes, was ready for bed.

paige and azzi looked at each other, smiles on their faces, hearts full of love and gratitude. they knew there would be challenges ahead—there always were—but in that moment, with their daughter in their arms and the love between them stronger than ever, they were ready for anything. together, they could face the world.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the following weeks brought even more changes. zaliyah’s first birthday was approaching, and paige and azzi had been making plans for a small celebration with close family and friends. it was hard to believe their little girl was already turning one, and they wanted to make it special.

“we need to get her the perfect cake,” paige said one night as they sat at the kitchen table, making a list of things to do for the party.

“i think we should get a smash cake,” azzi suggested, her eyes twinkling. “you know, the kind that’s just for her to destroy.”

paige laughed. “that sounds like a mess, but also adorable. i’m in.”

“of course, you are,” azzi teased, reaching over to squeeze paige’s hand. “what else should we get for the party?”

“well, we need decorations. some balloons, a few streamers, maybe a little photo booth area,” paige said, excited by the thought of celebrating zaliyah’s milestone.

“we’re going all out for our girl, huh?” azzi smiled, clearly enjoying the planning.

paige nodded. “she’s only one once. i want to make it a day she’ll always remember, even if she won’t remember it yet.”

they spent the rest of the evening creating a checklist for the party, making sure they had everything ready for zaliyah’s big day. as they worked together, they were reminded of how well they made a team—how they balanced each other out in the best way.

that weekend, they held the party. it was a small, intimate gathering, with just their closest friends and family. zaliyah, dressed in a cute little outfit with a party hat, was the center of attention. she clapped her hands, giggled, and reached for the cake, her wide eyes taking in all the new sights and sounds.

when it was time for her to try her smash cake, paige and azzi carefully placed it in front of her. zaliyah’s little hands went straight for the frosting, smearing it all over her face with delight. her laughter filled the room, and everyone around her couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“look at her,,” azzi said, her voice full of joy. “she’s loving it.”

“she’s perfect,” paige said, her heart swelling with pride. “i can’t believe she’s already one.”

azzi leaned over to kiss paige’s cheek. “i know. time is flying by. look at her.”

they sat together, watching their daughter enjoy her cake, and realized that this was only the beginning of so many more milestones, memories, and celebrations to come. their love for zaliyah, and for each other, had only grown stronger over the past year, and they were excited for all the adventures the future held.

as the months rolled on, life continued to unfold in beautiful, sometimes unpredictable ways. zaliyah was growing, learning new words, taking more steps, and every day brought a new joy or discovery. paige and azzi found themselves in a constant state of awe, watching their daughter transform from a tiny baby to a curious, lively toddler with her own unique personality.

one evening, as the three of them sat in the living room after dinner, zaliyah snuggled between them on the couch, her little hand resting on each of their laps. the soft light from the lamp beside them cast a warm glow, and the sound of zaliyah’s content sighs filled the space between them.

“can you believe how much she’s changed?” paige asked softly, her fingers gently brushing through zaliyah’s hair.

azzi smiled, looking at their daughter with a mixture of pride and amazement. “it feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital, and now look at her. she’s growing so fast. it’s like time is slipping through our fingers.”

“but in the best way,” paige replied, her voice full of affection.

they shared a quiet smile, the weight of their love for each other and for zaliyah filling the room. in that moment, they knew that whatever came next—whatever challenges they might face, whatever joy they might discover—they would always have each other. their family was strong, and it was only going to grow stronger with time.

as zaliyah let out a big yawn and cuddled up even closer, azzi and paige exchanged a look of pure contentment.

they sat there, in the quiet of their home, feeling the weight of all they had been through and the beauty of where they were now. there would be more birthdays, more milestones, more laughter, and maybe even a few tears—but they were ready. together, they were more than ready.

“we’ve built something beautiful.” paige whispered.

“the most beautiful thing,” azzi replied, her eyes glistening with love as she looked down at their daughter.

and as the night settled around them, they knew that no matter what, they were exactly where they were meant to be. their hearts were full, their family complete, and their love for each other stronger than ever.

[raven-cincaide]

Post-Canon! Megumi is a university student. His friends think he needs a break from all the curses and fighting so he can finally heal. Yuji says its a chance for Megumi to find the person who'll Megumi want to live for. Nobara says that even if he doesn't find anyone, they've already sacrificed so much; they need some kind of backup plan in case they ever need to leave the front lines. In truth, Yuji and Nobara just want to spend their youth exploring normal human things, and Megumi honestly can’t fault them. He doesn’t understand it but he doesn’t want to be left behind. So he tags along because.. well.. what else is he supposed to do?

Post-Canon! Megumi doesn’t know what to study. So he picks up a little bit of everything. He creates a schedule that fits his self-applied expectations and overachieving tendencies, going well above and beyond full-time studies. He keeps his mind occupied so he doesn't have to think about how hard it is to blend in, make new friends, and be human. (Un)fortunately, Yuji and Nobara don't let him avoid the campus life forever. 

Post-Canon! Megumi builds a routine he finds satisfactory which includes studying, gym, late night parties and nerdy book clubs. Hell, he picks up anything that makes him forget about curses and being a sorcerer. He promised himself he would be 'normal' while at uni and he made a promise his friends. University life may not be Megumi's calling but he wasn't about to let his friends down. So he does everything to avoid being tempted back into that life.

Post-Canon! Megumi notices you the second you enter one of his classes. He can tell you are a sorcerer. Instantly, he decides he wants nothing to do with you. He tries to make himself invisible, hunches down, pretends to read a book. Despite his closed body language, his eyes flicker over to you occasionally, although he quickly catches himself and goes straight back to reading. 

Post-Canon! Megumi is surprised when you approach his desk- one of the few remaining seats near the front. He is more surprised when you politely ask if you can sit beside him even though he doesn’t own the seat. It makes him unsure, fascinated, yet flustered. “Sure”, he replies, then a second later, grabs his bag, stands, and walks out of the class. He leaves minutes before the start, skipping his first class ever. He knows he’s being rude; he knows he undoubtedly embarrassed you. But he can’t get mixed up with Jujutsu- not when he started liking uni.

Post-Canon! Megumi swears he sees you everywhere and avoids you like the plague. Yet his eyes always seek you out, and his brain takes note of every little thing about you, from the casual sweatpants and hoodie you wear to morning classes to how you’re dolled up at late-night parties. Your laugh, your make-up, the perfume you wear, depending on your mood- he notices it all. He feels all sorts of emotions when he sees you yet squelches those in the far back of his mind. No, he keeps his distance even as you get close to Yuji and Nobara. If you three are eating together, he’ll skip lunch, if you three are hanging out, he’ll cancel last minute. Sometimes, his friends let him get away with it- but more often than not, Yuji or Nobara see right through him and force him to sit beside you. And the awkwardness can be cut through with a knife. 

Post-Canon! Megumi notices when you’ve been out hunting curses. It’s the faint linger of cursed energy and the distinct smell if death on you that he pickles up. He notices when there’s a tiny limp in your step. He notices when you’re tired and when you’re practically burned out; the way your eyes drop during the teacher's lecture; the way you scribble down your homework mere minutes before submission, or the way you stress about not being able to buy the course literature before the first assignment is due by poking at your lunch and not answering Nobara. So he leaves his books out before going to the bathroom, knowing Yuji and Nobara will push you to take pictures of the few pages you need.

Post-Canon! Megumi swears he is done with being a sorcerer and that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with curses. Yet when he sees you stumbling out of your dorm room, in your jujutsu get-up, barely able to keep your eyes open, he can’t help the pang of worry in his chest. He swears he is done being a sorcerer, even as his feet carry him to follow you.. 

[stagtorccio]

zombie girl

lottie matthews x gn!reader

request: x summary: what a dream that was / i almost couldn't wake because / i was frozen in bed with a zombie girl / vacant as a closed down fair or: the yellowjackets get rescued. none of them are the same, especially not the girl you used to dream of coming home to. warnings: angst angst and more angst. not really many specific warnings though word count: 1901 author's note: i'm not dead .. who knew

[AO3]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

January, 1998.

The headlines were everywhere.

LOST GIRLS FOUND.

WISKAYOK HIGH YELLOWJACKETS RETURN HOME.

You saw them before you got the call– photos, grainy footage, screaming anchors trying to make sense of the impossible. Sunken eyes, bruised skin, smiles that never reached the eyes.

Ghosts made flesh. Girls turned cautionary tale turned girls again.

Your phone rang not long after.

You were one of Lottie's listed emergency contacts. A name scribbled on a form from years ago, back when things were simpler and still sweet between you. Back before she left that May morning for a flight and the world tore itself in two.

The voice on the line was clipped, rehearsed. A nurse or a social worker, maybe. You don’t remember much of what they said. Just that she was alive. That she’d asked for no one. But that they thought maybe you, alongside her parents, should know.

You were one of the first people to see her after the plane touched down.

She moved like her bones weren’t fully hers anymore. Her clothes hung off her like they’d belonged to someone else. Some older girl. Some dead girl.

Her hair was longer, darker, like it had soaked up stagnant mud water and never dried out. It clung to her neck in damp ropes. There were scrapes on her knuckles. A faint scar– a gash across her third eye you didn’t remember.

She didn’t say anything. Not then. Not for weeks. She just looked at you with those impossible eyes– glassy and bottomless– like she was staring through you, or maybe into you. And whatever she saw, it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t real. Wasn’t safe.

It was like being studied by a stranger wearing your lover’s face.

And still, you let her in.

She’d been given a schedule. Something her doctors had decided would help her transition back to normal life, whatever that meant. A week at home with her parents. A week with you. Rinse, then repeat. It was generous, her mother had said, through a tight, brittle smile. Like you were a visiting nurse instead of the person Lottie used to brush noses and lips with in the dark of hallway closets.

But some nights, when Lottie was asleep, or at least still, her mother would call. Her voice already wet with tears. You’d talk quietly in the hallway like teenagers hiding something. She would ask if Lottie had eaten. If she’d spoken. If she seemed like her old self.

You never had the heart to say no. Not directly.

During your weeks with her, you would tell Lottie about your day. You made her soup, even when she wouldn’t eat. You cried one night and apologized for it the next morning, ashamed of the sound of your own voice.

Ashamed of needing anything from her.

You touched her hand once, gently, and felt nothing. No tension. No recoil. Just skin. Warm, but blank, like a mannequin left too long in the sun.

Sometimes, when you were talking– about work, about the new neighbors, about that stupid dream you had where you were both still in high school– you caught yourself smiling like an idiot. Like she was going to smile back. Like she was going to laugh.

She never did. She was there, but she wasn’t. Her body moved through your space, slept in your bed, left the faintest scent on your pillow. But whatever she was now, whatever that place had made of her, it wasn’t what she used to be.

You tried to keep her anyway.

So when she finally spoke– just past 2 AM, your mouth still slack with sleep, her voice flat and rusted– you didn’t think it was real at first. Just a dream’s echo. A noise your brain invented to feel less alone.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said, barely louder than the ticking of the wall clock. “I’m going to Switzerland.”

You blinked up at her, disoriented. “What?”

She didn’t look at you. Her gaze was pinned to the far corner of the room, hands folded neatly in her lap, trembling just slightly.

“My parents booked the flight.”

That was it. No explanation. No apology. No warning. The first thing she’d said to you in sixty-four days, and the last.

You sat up slowly, every part of you vibrating with something between shock and fury. The silence cracked wide open inside your chest. Something hot and angry poured out of it. You lost it. Of course you did.

You said things you meant and things you didn’t. You told her she didn’t care. That she never had. You asked how she could spend two months wordless, watching you fall apart, only to drop her departure like it meant nothing.

You said you waited. You said you loved her. You said this is not what people do when they love someone.

Lottie didn’t cry. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t even flinch. And that only made it worse.

You grabbed your keys and stormed out, no coat, no wallet, no plan– just raw, blind heat carrying you down the stairs. You slammed the door so hard behind you it sounded like a gunshot, and you hoped, for just a second, that it would shake something loose in her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

You came back early the next morning, shame pressing at your ribs.

Quietly. Gently. In case she was asleep. You were already rehearsing your apology.

You were going to tell her you were scared. That you didn’t mean all of it. That you just wanted her to talk to you.

But the bed was made. Her coat was gone. So was her toothbrush. The drawer she kept her notebooks in was empty.

You sat on the edge of the mattress, numb and weightless, staring at the spot on the wall where her shadow used to fall in the mornings. The light coming through the blinds looked bleached and unfamiliar, like it didn’t belong to this place anymore.

Eventually, you lay down on the side she used to sleep on. The sheets were cold. Her scent lingered faintly on the pillowcase, lavender and something earthy. You pulled the blanket up to your chin and stayed still.

You told yourself that if you were quiet enough, if you didn’t breathe too loud, maybe she’d slip back in beside you, just like before. Bare feet, cold hands. Humming how she did when she thought you were asleep.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓃢𓃦𐂂 ────────────────────── .✦

The days bleed together after she leaves.

You stop checking the calendar. There’s no point. Morning and night become suggestion more than certainty, light shifting lazily through the blinds in varying degrees of gold and gray when you remember to open them. Sometimes you sleep until dusk. Sometimes you don’t sleep at all. Sometimes you sit in the kitchen at 3 AM, barefoot on the cold tile, watching the kettle even though you aren’t making tea.

The apartment is quiet in a new way. Not the silence of a person not speaking— it's a hollowing, horrible silence. The kind that swallows things. The kind that presses in around your ears like water until you can hear the blood rushing in your head, your teeth grinding in your sleep, the faint echo of something moving in the next room when you’re the only one there.

You stop turning on the lights.

For the first few days, you kept catching glimpses of her in mirrors. In your periphery. Sitting in the chair by the window, the way she used to when she couldn’t sleep. You’d blink and she’d be gone, but your heart wouldn’t stop racing. You’d look at the chair anyway. Just in case.

You start talking to her again. You can’t help it.

Quiet things at first: Good morning. I had a weird dream. I think it’s going to rain.

Sometimes you laugh mid-sentence, like she’s really there. Like she’d lift her head and smirk. Raise one eyebrow. Whisper something strange and lovely and totally useless in response. You can almost hear it. Almost feel her breath on your neck when you turn too fast.

One night, you set the table for two.

You don’t realize it until you’re already sitting down, fork in hand, the other plate full and untouched. You stare at it for a long time. Her chair. Her glass. Her favorite tea cooling beside a bowl of food she would never eat.

You don’t cry. You just take her plate to the fridge and store it carefully, like it would be rude to leave it sitting too long. Like she might still come in, late, guilty, reach for your wrist with shaking fingers to say she’s changed her mind, that she’s hungry today.

You liked those days, as few and far between as they were.

You start sleeping on the couch.

Her side of the bed feels too empty. You can’t take the weight of it anymore. But even there, curled beneath a blanket that still smells vaguely of her shampoo, she comes to you. Or something does. You wake up gasping, swearing you felt her fingers brushing the back of your neck.

You start dreaming in her voice.

Not her old voice– not the real one, soft and warm and a little sarcastic– but the voice after. The low, rusted one. The voice from the night she said goodbye.

You don’t know how many days have passed. Maybe eight. Maybe eighteen. Maybe eighty. Time doesn’t truly pick up again until you find it. The envelope: thin, foreign, out of place among overdue bills and grocery circulars.

You turn it over once, twice. Your name is written across the front in neat, looping script. You’ve kissed the knuckles of the hand it belongs to.

The letter is postmarked: Zürich. There’s no return address.

You don’t open it right away. You just stand in the doorway, keys still in your other hand, shoes still on, staring at it. It’s already too late. You know that. You know whatever it contains can only dig further into an already sore wound.

But you open it anyway. There’s only one sheet inside. Lightweight paper, folded once down the middle. No date. No greeting. No dear you. Just her voice, small and impossibly clear:

I’m allowed to write now. They think I’m getting better. I'm bored here. I don’t do much. I sleep, mostly. Switzerland is quiet. Everything here is so clean. I miss the mess of the apartment. I think I left the wrong version of myself behind. I’m sorry. I don’t know if that matters. There’s a girl in the room next to mine who hums while she paints. I can’t stand it. I hope you’re eating. Please don’t forget to. I’ll write again if I can. — L. M.

You read it twice, then again, slower. Your eyes catch on certain lines like burrs: left the wrong version of myself behind. Please don’t forget.

She hadn’t asked you to write back. Not that you could.

You stare at the envelope on the counter for a long time. The stark, clean whiteness. The ghost of her fingertips in the paper’s creases. Then you fold the letter back up. Slide it under your pillow.

That night, she’s sitting at the kitchen table, humming. When you wake up, the seat is empty again.

It was a lovely dream, anyway.

[aleskie]

HEY OSCAR! | Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve shared a close friendship with Oscar Piastri since you first met during Freshman Orientation. When you join an open mic event that requires you to have an original composition, you channel your feelings into a song, hoping it can convey what you’re too scared to say. As it turns out, sometimes the heart speaks louder than words. AKA the Oscar Piastri University AU

Word Count: 8k Warnings: None :>> Just a lil Best Friends to Lovers ♫ Listen: Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift ♫

You sit cross-legged beneath the shade of an old oak tree in the open fields of the university, guitar in hand, fingers plucking strings with delicate care as you hum along. Beside you, a glitter pen rests on top of an open notebook, the pages half-filled with scrawled chords and lyrics that have been scratched out.

The air’s turned crisp and the sun dips lower, casting the sky in vibrant waves of orange, pink, and violet. But you're too absorbed in perfecting the melody, to enjoy the beauty unraveling above.

“There you are!” a familiar voice calls out, cutting through your focus. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It’s your best friend, Oscar.

He crosses the field with his usual lopsided grin, looking slightly out of breath, his backpack bouncing with each step. As he reaches you, he plops down on the grass and drops his bag with a thud beside yours, the collection of keychains clinking against each other like a small wind chime.

“I thought I’d be headed to the library by myself,” he says, still smiling, his eyes glancing over at your notebook. “Didn’t think I’d find you out here, lost in…this.” He gestures towards you hunched over your guitar, scribbling glittery musings in your notebook.

You shrug, glancing sheepishly at your notebook. “Sorry bub, you might still have to go without me. I’ve got this melody I need to finish.”

“A melody?” He echoes, raising a brow and clearly amused. “You do remember we’re engineering majors, right? Not musicians.”

“Unlike someone, I actually have a hobby,” you shoot back, grinning, though your gaze drifts back to your guitar, fingers instinctively tracing the fretboard. “We can’t all be robotics prodigies, Mr. Piastri.”

“Augh!” He clutches his chest in mock injury, grinning widely. “Low blow, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and return to strumming, catching the way he settles onto his backpack, head tilted back as he scrolls through his phone. Clearly, he isn’t going anywhere, so you continue experimenting with melodies and rhymes, though none of them feel quite right.

As the sky darkens and a chill settles in, you glance over to find Oscar still sprawled on the grass, now with his AirPods in, chuckling softly at something on his screen. Smirking, you reach over and pull one of the earbuds out.

“I thought you were heading to the library?” you tease, raising a brow.

He huffs, reaching for the earbud in your hand, though his fingers linger on yours for just a beat longer than necessary. “You weren’t going to be there, so what’s the point?”

You feel some heat rush to your face but quickly push it down. He’s your best friend—nothing more. Probably.

“So, what? You’ll just stay here until I’m done?”

“Nah,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “I’ll stay until you decide to ask for my opinion.”

“Ask for help from the guy who hasn’t even added a single song to our shared playlist?” You scoff, pouting, bringing your focus back to composing. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He hums a response and a beat passes before he gives you a knowing look. “So, why’d you even sign up for that original-submission open-mic thing anyway?”

You shrug, mumbling, “It seemed fun at the time.”

“Not so fun now, huh?” He smirks, his gaze drifting to the notebook littered with scratched-out lyrics and half-formed lines.

“Shut up,” you groan, playfully nudging him with your foot. He laughs, a sound as familiar as it is comforting, and you can’t help but smile as you return to your guitar, his presence a steady rhythm in the background, keeping you company as the stars begin to appear overhead.

“Well, let me offer some advice anyway, since you clearly don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, sitting up and rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a hoodie and tosses it toward you, his aim landing it squarely on your face before it tumbles into your lap. “Just…focus on what you know.” 

The hoodie is your hoodie—well, his hoodie, but you’ve claimed it enough times that it might as well be yours by now. It’s the one you always reach for on cold mornings and late nights. The one that’s softer than all his other hoodies. The one that clings to his scent the longest—not that you’d ever admit you notice that.

“Write what I know, huh?” You look over at him, letting your gaze linger on his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the faint freckles sprinkled across his face. As you think about his words, you start to make a mental list of the things you do know.

You know robotics and calculus. You know the exact temperature for steeping different types of tea. You know how to sew and knit and crochet. You know chemistry and coding and…you know Oscar.

You know his quirks, his habits, the way he folds into himself when he sleeps, how he prefers his coffee, and how he schedules his day with way too many alarms. You know his class schedule by heart, the subjects he struggles with, and the way he pushes through them anyway. If nothing else, you know him. You know him in all the small, quiet ways that matter.

You slip on the hoodie, feeling its warmth wrap around you, and can’t help but give him a small, almost secret smile—a little mischievous, a little uncertain. You already know what you’re going to write about.

For better or worse, this would be a song he wouldn’t forget.

You first meet Oscar at freshman orientation. By chance, the two of you end up sitting side-by-side in one of those endless welcome sessions, the kind that packs in far too many speeches from people you’ll probably never see again. He’s quiet and a little reserved, dressed head-to-toe in school merch: a fresh university shirt and a cap with the campus logo. You’d actively avoided wearing any of it, determined not to look like the stereotypical freshman, but somehow, on him, it’s endearing. He actually seemed excited to be here, enough to wear it proudly—and, well, he was cute. That didn’t hurt either.

You, on the other hand, were exhausted. The nerves from knowing you’d be starting college had robbed you of sleep, and the stuffy room only added to the weight of your eyelids. Somewhere between the speech on campus values and the talk on student resources, your head dips forward, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep—right on his shoulder.

He’s the one who gently nudges you awake once the session finally ends, when everyone else is already getting up to leave for campus tours. Blinking in confusion, you sit up quickly, mortification settling in as you realize what happened.

“Oh my God—I am so sorry!” You say, eyes wide and filled with regret.

“It’s fine,” he says, hands slipping into his pockets, a small, slightly awkward smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

You squint, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, still calm. “I mean, it could. I was close to falling asleep too,” he admits, leaning in as if it’s a secret.

You let out a laugh, nerves easing just a bit. Somehow, he makes it seem like less of a big deal, and you find yourself smiling.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, extending your hand with a tentative smile, hoping to smooth over the awkwardness of your unplanned nap on his shoulder.

“Oscar,” he replies, reaching out to grasp your hand. His shake is gentle but sure, his grip warm against your fingers.

For a brief moment, you hold his gaze, and there’s something both reassuring and easygoing in his expression. You can tell he’s someone who doesn’t mind the little quirks in people—he’s likely someone who’d find them interesting. The noise of other freshmen shuffling around to start the campus tour fills the air, but the two of you linger for just a beat longer.

“Well,” you say, letting go of his hand reluctantly, “Which group are you in for the tour?”

“Um.” He checks his phone, squinting slightly. “Group four.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and a smirk creeps onto your face. “Well, look at that! Looks like you can’t get rid of me yet.”

“Never said I wanted to get rid of you.” He chuckles, sliding his phone back into his pocket as you both fall into step together. “Especially not when you’ve made quite the first impression.”

After a shared laugh and an easy exchange of grins, you lead the way to the back of the line for Group Four. Building after building, you walk together, navigating the labyrinth of campus with a strange mixture of excitement and calm.

Sometimes you walk in comfortable silence—the kind that only comes in those first moments of meeting someone, when you want to say more but aren’t quite sure where to start. Other times, your conversation spills into heated debates that draw in other students before they drift away again, leaving you and Oscar to continue on alone. You chat about everything from the cafeteria’s rumored curfews to the quirky statues scattered around campus, and as each topic arises, Oscar surprises you. He’s reserved, but his dry humor and unexpected quips keep you laughing, his calm wit a perfect match for your own.

By the time you’ve seen most of the campus, you realize there’s something different about him. He’s easy to be around, comfortable and safe, but with a spark that keeps things interesting. You can’t explain it exactly—and maybe it’s too early to tell—but some part of you feels that this could be the beginning of a friendship that’s special—one that could last a long, long time.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, Oscar is celebrating seven months with Michelle, his girlfriend, while you’re somewhere around your millionth date—or at least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. Oscar’s always been the type to settle down in serious relationships, while you’ve leaned into the idea of playing the field, keeping things light before they turn into something more. But that idea lost its appeal fast when you realized most people in the dating pool were just looking for something casual, something fleeting.

And it didn’t help that every so often, you’d find yourself third-wheeling Oscar and Michelle. They’d gotten together near the end of freshman year, survived a summer apart while he went back home to Australia, and picked up in sophomore year as if they’d never left each other’s side.

You kind of like Michelle. You’ve spent enough time with her to consider her almost a friend, sometimes hanging out without Oscar around. She’s sharp, funny, and somehow manages to match Oscar’s dry humor in a way that leaves you in stitches. But sometimes…well, sometimes, she gets under your skin. Like right now.

“Do I look alright?” Oscar asks, running a hand through his hair for what has to be the hundredth time tonight, eyes fixed on the mirror as he adjusts his shirt and frowns slightly.

You’re sprawled across his roommate’s bed, a spot that’s become practically yours over the past two years.

Oscar’s roommate, Lando, is an upperclassman in your major, just a year ahead, and the three of you clicked almost instantly. He’s practically the big brother of your university life, guiding you through the maze of class schedules, professor choices, and which activities are worth your time.

He’s loud, fun, and has an impressive collection of video games that you all regularly raid. And thanks to him, you and Oscar have a standing invite to all the best parties on campus, where he dramatically introduces you both as his “prized students.” He’s a blast to be with. There’s never a dull moment with him. 

Currently, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing his Nintendo Switch with complete focus while you absentmindedly twist curls in his hair.

“You look fine, Osc,” you groan, “You looked fine thirty minutes ago when you first asked.” You give him a pointed look. “Which, by the way, was the time she was supposed to meet you here.”

Oscar shrugs, brushing it off with a small smile. “She’s probably just finalizing the details of the date. She’ll be here soon.”

Lando smirks, not glancing up from his game. “Does she know that offering to plan a special date—and then executing it—also involves showing up on time?”

You smack the back of his head lightly, and he yelps, finally looking away from his game. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” you pout, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. “Oh, so you can throw in all the little comments about her being late and flaking out, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” you say, matter-of-factly, crossing your arms, “Because I actually hang out with her. You just get the highlights.”

Lando snickers but doesn’t get a chance to reply before Oscar cuts in, his expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Wait—so you gossip about my relationship now? Since when?”

Lando gives Oscar a devilish grin, leaning back with a smug look. “That’s classified info, Ozzy boy,” he says, “But we’ll let you in on the secret if you two either break up or end up getting married.”

Oscar looks at you, his expression practically pleading, as if to say, And you’re in on this too? You’re going to keep this a secret from me?

You can’t help but smirk, knowing how it’ll get under his skin. “What he said.” You and Lando share a quick high-five, laughing at Oscar’s groan.

Then, Lando gives you a sly look, leaning in with a grin. “Honestly though, Y/N, if you ever get tired of waiting on him, I’m single. We’d be campus royalty, you know? Top of the line.”

You snort, playing along. “Oh, totally. Imagine the headlines: Y/N and Lando—A Match Made in Unexpected Heaven!”

“Right?” Lando grins, winking. “We’d be a dream together, love.”

Oscar shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms as he watches you two banter. “Are you two done planning your imaginary relationship?” He mutters, trying to sound casual but giving you a sidelong glance.

You glance back at him, laughing. “Relax, Osc. Lando’s not even my type—”

“Hey now!” Lando protests, feigning offense.

“—But if he were,” you continue, ignoring Lando’s dramatics, “You’d totally be the best third wheel, bub.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of something behind the exasperation, something you can’t quite place. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who’s actually got a date tonight.”

Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. We’ll let you focus on impressing your date, lover boy.” He smirks. “If she ever gets here.”

You give him another light smack on the head and he laughs as Oscar chuckles along, the three of you settling back into the easy rhythm of jokes and chatter. Oscar seems quieter than usual, but you chalk it up to nerves about the date—or lack thereof.

You’re just relieved to have the same easy vibe you’ve always had with them—after all, that’s what matters most.

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle is still a no-show. No text, no call, no explanation. And Oscar is...silent. Even Lando, usually quick with a quip, notices the change in Oscar’s mood and dials down the teasing, trying instead to fill the silence by chattering about a game they both play. But even that doesn’t bring Oscar around; his usual lighthearted responses are replaced by quiet nods and distracted hums.

His clothes have long since changed from his date outfit to his usual worn hoodie and sweatpants, but the frown on his face hasn’t budged.

You and Lando have swapped places now—you’re sprawled on the floor, and he’s kicked back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Oscar lies between you two, his head resting on your lap, eyes fixed on his screen. He’s still waiting, clearly hoping for some sign from Michelle, though by now you’re almost certain that no text is coming.

Eventually, you give him a gentle pat on the cheek, signaling for him to shift so you can slide out from under him and put your shoes back on to make the trek to your own dorm.

“The third roommate moves out,” Lando jokes, leaning back with a sigh. “Always the hardest part of the night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smirk on your face as you give him a quick hug. “My presence really does brighten up the place, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grins, playfully nudging you. “Bring her back safe, Osc!” He calls out as you and Oscar step into the hallway.

You and Oscar walk in silence, a heavy quiet that neither of you rushes to fill. After a moment, he reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it’s some small comfort.

“What she did was shitty, you know,” you murmur, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a laugh, though it’s empty, tired. “It’s kinda funny, isn’t it? I got all dressed up, wondering how the night would go, and then…nothing.” His voice trails off, resignation in every word.

You stop and turn to him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t on you, bub. She should’ve said something.”

He looks at you, eyes tracing the ground for a second before they finally lift, catching yours. “At least you’re here.”

“Perks of being single and unwanted,” you joke, your voice light but the words half-true. You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll always be here, Osc. No matter what.”

Hand in hand, you make your way to your dorm, basking in a silence that feels steady, solid. When you reach your door, you pause, turning to him with open arms. He steps into the hug, pulling you close, and you feel him cling just a little tighter, his warmth grounding you both.

After a long moment, he pulls back, his hands resting on your shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. “For the record,” he says softly, his gaze steady on yours, "You aren’t unwanted.” His voice grows quieter, serious. “I’ll always want you around.”

For a moment, his words feel loaded, almost more than platonic, and something in his eyes lingers a beat too long. But you brush the thought away, reminding yourself of the boundaries in place—he has a girlfriend, and he’s just been hurt tonight. He’s vulnerable. So you ignore any underlying meanings—ignore the rising tension—and you ruffle his hair, keeping things light.

“Me too, bub.” You smile, patting his shoulder. “I’ll always want you around too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, you slip into your dorm, leaving Oscar standing there, both of you holding onto that quiet, unspoken promise between you.

Oscar and Michelle break up just before summer, right near the end of sophomore year. You can’t say you’re surprised—honestly, you’d been half-expecting it since that night she stood him up. But when he tells you, his voice low and resigned, you do your best to hide any hint of satisfaction. You give him a steady pat on the back, listen as he mopes through the last few weeks of school, and keep all those unspoken feelings locked away. After all, he’s your best friend, and that’s what he needs most right now.

Still, you can’t deny that a part of you is relieved. He’s spending more time with you again and his hoodies have officially returned to their rightful home—your dorm room. You feel a secret giddiness every time he hands you one to wear, relishing the way it’s soft and warm and unmistakably his. It’s as if things have gone back to how they used to be.

But you’re his best friend, and best friends don’t overthink the little things. So you keep it to yourself, even when you’re studying for finals together, living off caffeine and library vending machine snacks, or trading late-night rants about the professors who dared assign twenty-page essays. You proofread his pages with half-shut eyes at 3 a.m., he helps you organize your chaotic notes, and somehow, you make it through. After every three-hour final, you both wait outside the exam hall for each other, sharing a quiet sense of victory, collapsing into a laugh about how little you actually remembered from all those nights spent cramming.

When the semester finally ends, and it’s time for him to pack for his trip back home to Australia, you help him sort through his clothes and cram textbooks into his suitcase, doing your best to ignore the familiar ache of goodbye.

If your fingers brush a little too long while folding his favorite shirt, or if you find his face lingering a beat too close as you hand him one last book to pack, neither of you mentions it. These almost-moments hang in the air, the silence thick with words you’re not yet ready to say. But it’s enough just to know he’ll be back, that no matter how far he goes, he’s still yours. 

At least, in the way best friends belong to each other.

When he comes back after the summer, now entering into your junior year, you notice he’s different. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a little more confidence in the way he carries himself, a bit more certainty in his steps. He’s shed some of that awkward charm, replaced by a newfound ease that almost feels strange. You find yourself watching him more closely, catching moments that feel just a little bit different.

There’s a shift between you, too, something new lingering just beneath the surface, threading itself into each conversation. It’s a tension that neither of you dares to name. The way he walks, the way he talks to you—it all feels sharper, more vivid somehow. And the way he says your name now, in that deeper tone with that familiar hint of teasing, makes your heart race a little faster, even though you tell yourself it’s silly.

One afternoon, you’re sitting side by side on the campus lawn, watching students pass by, each absorbed in their own lives. Oscar’s fingers idly pull at the grass between you, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes are warm but searching, as if there’s something he’s been holding back. 

“Do you…miss me over the summer?” He asks, half-smiling but with an edge to his tone, as if he’s testing the waters.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you give his shoulder a playful shove. “Are you forgetting the reason I spend half my summer awake at the strangest hours? Making sure your calls don’t end with me passing out mid-conversation?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning back. “Trust me, bub, you’re impossible to forget.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, jutting out his lower lip in a mock pout. His gaze stays steady on you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s something there—something you can’t quite place but that you feel all the way down to your bones.

You swallow, trying to keep your tone as light as his. “Oh, Oscar. No need to be dramatic. You’ve been stuck with me since orientation.” You smile, warm and reassuring. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His chuckle is warm, but the laugh doesn’t fully reach his eyes. A flicker of something vulnerable, almost haunted, crosses his face. “People have a way of leaving,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, Lando’s about to graduate, and after that…well, things change.”

His words hang between you, stark against the background noise of campus life. It’s a reality you both understand: university, with its friendships, late-night talks, and steady routines, is never as permanent as it feels in the moment. Change is inevitable, and soon, it’ll come for all of you.

You scoot a little closer, letting your shoulder brush against his, grounding him in the here and now. “Lando’s an old man at the edge of freedom, the lucky bastard.” You smirk, nudging him gently. “You and I though? We’re still the same. No one’s going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of unspoken promises lingering between you. His gaze dips briefly to your lips before flicking back up, and there’s a spark of something that feels new, unexpected. It’s as though he’s waiting for the right words, like there’s a tune that neither of you has heard yet playing gently in the background, just waiting for one of you to finally hum along.

You rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar weight of his presence ground you. “We’ve got time, Oscar.”

He grins, a little reluctantly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that softens his expression, something unguarded and real. You can feel the silent understanding settle between you both, an unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, some things don’t have to change.

Not yet.

And now, you’re here. Typing out the lyrics to the song you know is going to be for Oscar, while lying on his bed with his arm resting comfortably around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside you. The gentle weight of his arm keeps you grounded, but it’s more than that; it’s the warmth of him next to you, a presence you can’t shake, a feeling that lingers even when he’s not here.

You’d thought nothing had changed between you two. But now, looking back, you see it—small shifts, like puzzle pieces rearranging themselves before you even noticed they’d moved. Maybe it’s the way he’s been studying your face a little longer, or the way he’s been holding your hand more often, or how he brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear without a second thought.

Then, there was that moment just a while ago. You’d been sprawled out on Lando’s bed as usual, laughing at some random meme he'd shown you. But Oscar was just watching you, a soft expression in his eyes that felt almost...territorial.

"C'mere," he’d said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent, breaking through your laughter. “Stay with me.”

Lando had raised an eyebrow at Oscar’s request, and you’d missed a small knowing smirk on his lips. But you were more focused on how Oscar’s eyes hadn’t left you, his hand reaching out in a quiet invitation.

You’d moved over to him, hesitating for only a second before settling into his arms. The way his hand had rested on your waist, his fingers drawing small circles there as you leaned against him, felt different—like he was anchoring you there, like he wanted you closer than usual. And though he’d acted like it was nothing, you could have sworn you felt his heartbeat pick up against your shoulder.

Now it’s just the two of you, the quiet of the dorm settling around you, warm and easy. Lando had left a while ago, heading to a friend’s party and leaving you and Oscar alone—though not before snapping a couple photos of you two on the same bed. The dim light from the streetlamp outside filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room, and you can’t help but notice how natural it all feels—like you were always meant to be here.

Oscar stretches beside you, facing you with his hazy eyes and that familiar, sleepy smile. There’s something gentle in his gaze, a kind of warmth that makes your pulse skip a little, though you try to ignore it, focusing instead on the slow rhythm of his breathing and the subtle sound of his laughter still echoing from earlier.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little drowsy. His hand, warm and steady, rests lightly on your shoulder as he draws you closer.

“Yeah,” you say, not even bothering to hide the smile in your voice. It’s almost ridiculous, the calm that fills you while you’re with him—no masks, no obligations, just the two of you in the cozy quiet.

Minutes pass in an easy silence, your head resting just close enough to his that you can feel his breath against your cheek. When you look up, he’s already watching you, eyes half-lidded, a softness in them you haven’t quite seen before. There’s a vulnerability there, something almost unguarded, as if he’s waiting for you to catch onto a feeling that he’s carried all along.

Your eyes drift closed, and soon enough, the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beside you becomes a lullaby, easing you to sleep with a sense of comfort you can’t remember feeling anywhere else.

When you wake the next morning, soft sunlight is spilling through the blinds, warming the room with a gentle glow. For a moment, you’re disoriented, blinking away sleep and adjusting to the soft, steady breathing beside you. Then you remember—you’re still here, wrapped in the blankets beside Oscar.

Oscar stirs, his eyes fluttering open just enough to catch you watching him. A lazy grin tugs at his lips, and his hand, which had somehow ended up wrapped around yours, gives the smallest, sleep-tinged squeeze.

"Morning," he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you reply, feeling a warmth settle over you that has nothing to do with the morning light filtering through the blinds. There’s a pause, a soft kind of stillness stretching between you, as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet and you’re suspended here, in this quiet, shared moment.

"G’moooooorning," Lando groans from across the room, his voice muffled by the covers. The two of you chuckle, knowing he’ll be facing a brutal hangover today.

Still smiling, you shift to sit up, and that’s when it hits you—just how close you and Oscar are, practically nose to nose on his twin bed. His hand is still loosely draped around yours, and you can feel his steady breaths, warm against your cheek. The familiarity of it sends a pleasant hum through you, a feeling of rightness that’s been quietly building in moments like this.

Oscar’s gaze catches yours, his eyes lingering just a bit longer than usual, and you notice the small smile playing on his lips, a little shy, a little more awake now. For a split second, something in his expression feels different—like there’s a question he hasn’t quite asked, or a confession he’s almost ready to say.

You feel a flicker of something, unexpected and thrilling, settle in your chest. And in that moment, you think that maybe, just maybe, there's something more here. 

But you shake the thoughts from your head. You’re just friends. Best friends.

Oscar’s bed is quickly becoming your new headquarters, if only because he won’t let you sit on Lando’s anymore. He insists it’s practical—Lando’s bed is too far from his side of the room, and Lando would complain about your stuff spilling over anyway—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. And Oscar’s growing possessiveness over “his side of the room” only fuels that suspicion.

One afternoon, as you’re curled up in his bed, typing out lyrics on your laptop, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smiles, and excuses himself to take the call, wandering to the far side of the room. You’re too focused on your song to notice right away, but something about his tone pulls you from your work.

“Hey, yeah…I know, I know,” he says, his voice soft and a little bashful. You can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but whatever they’re saying has him pacing, one hand ruffling his hair as he mutters a response.

He sighs a second later, a smile playing on his lips. “Come on, it’s not…it’s not that easy, alright?” He glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief, vulnerable moment before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with color. “I don’t think she’s...aware of anything like that. Not yet, at least.”

You can practically hear the teasing tone from the caller without even needing the words, and Oscar groans, running his hand over his face. “Okay, but…what if…I mean, what if it messes things up?”

You pretend to be fully absorbed in your screen, fighting back a small smile. You can’t hear the other side, but the snippets you catch send a warm flutter through your chest for some reason. 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, conceding. “No, I get it. I do.” He steals another glance your way, a softer, unguarded look in his eyes, something unspoken. “Look, I’ll...I’ll think about it, okay?”

When he hangs up and returns to the bed, there’s a new, nervous smile on his face, like he’s holding back.

“Good talk?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light, though curiosity buzzes in your chest.

“Yeah, uh, just Hattie,” he says, still sounding casual, though his eyes are filled with something quieter, maybe even hopeful. He hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully. “She, um…thinks I should take more risks.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, leaning in, feeling the familiar, magnetic pull between you. “What kind of risks?”

He laughs, though there’s a nervous edge to it, his gaze dropping to the edge of the blanket as he fidgets with it. “Just…the ones that aren’t obvious until you actually go for them, I guess.”

You hum, shifting back to your lyrics, though your heart skips a beat. The air between you feels charged, like you’re both on the edge of something new and a little terrifying.

It’s two weeks before the open mic, and you’re sitting at your desk, carefully polishing every line, every note of the song. There’s a rhythm to it now, a familiarity as you hum the lyrics under your breath, and suddenly, it hits you—this song, this performance, everything…it’s for him.

You're in love with Oscar Piastri.

You don’t exactly know when it happened—the exact moment it shifted from comfortable friendship to something deeper. Maybe it was that quiet moment on the field when you swore he looked at your lips a little too long, or when you found yourself deciding to dedicate this song to him. Maybe it’s always been this way with you both, feelings going deeper but never having the chance to be more.

Now though, it’s glaringly obvious. And it’s stressing you the fuck out.

Lando, on the other hand, is having the time of his life.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” He snickers, barely containing his glee as you finally confess it to him, late one night while Oscar’s out with other friends. He dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear from his eye. “I was starting to think you’d never figure it out!”

“It’s not funny!” You groan, slumping back into the chair across from him, running a hand through your hair.

“It soooo is!” Lando cackles, his laughter echoing through the room. “I mean, come on, Y/N. You were acting all kinds of weird back when he had a girlfriend!”

You sit up defensively, crossing your arms. “I was being a good friend! I even hung out with her!”

“On hangouts you always had issues with!”

“She was never on time and flaked constantly!”

He rolls his eyes, his smirk widening. “Fine, fine. But what about the fact that you basically live here now, huh? You and Oscar are like a package deal.”

You stick out your tongue. “You like having me around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” he admits, smirking. “But come on. It’s obvious now—you’ve liked him for ages.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping as the weight of the truth settles in. “Yeah. I guess I have.” You let out a breath, feeling both relieved and nervous now that you’ve finally said it out loud.

Lando leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You blink, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “I mean…do I have to do anything? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Lando gives you a look, the kind only a big brother can give, full of patience and a hint of frustration. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung the stars. Seriously. You could be a serial killer and he’d be wagging his tail while helping you dig a hole.” He chuckles. “He’s madly in love with you. I swear it.”

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through you at his words. But you still shake your head, hesitant. “You think so?”

“Duh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Look, don’t overthink it. Just play your song, put it all out there, and see how he reacts. You’ll know.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a playful nudge. “When did you get so wise?”

“Probably when I had my graduation photos taken,” he grins, brushing you off.

You laugh along with him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all you need to do—play the song, let the words say everything you’re too afraid to put out there, and hope he hears it in all the ways that matter.

Two days before the open mic, you’re practicing alone in the small rehearsal room on campus, running through the song again and again. The lyrics are practically engraved in your memory, but each time you sing them, they feel heavier, more vulnerable. You’ve poured so much of yourself, of your memories, into these words—it’s impossible not to think of him as you sing them.

The door creaks open, and you almost jump out of your skin. Oscar steps inside, an easy smile on his face as he leans against the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey,” he says, his voice low and soft, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as you try to act casual. "Just practicing,” you say, glancing away and strumming a few absent chords on your guitar. “You know, trying to make it sound…not terrible."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks further into the room. “Not a chance of that. I know it’s gonna be incredible." He stops just a few feet from you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this serious about something that wasn’t for our grade. It’s kind of amazing.”

You laugh, a little too nervously. "It might have turned out to be more important to me than I originally thought.”

He watches you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, a mix of admiration and curiosity. It makes you feel exposed, as if he can see right through you, into the meaning behind what you just said, into all the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to keep under wraps since you realized.

“Since we met…” You trail off, catching yourself, unsure if you want to finish that sentence.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Since we met…what?” he asks, leaning a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours.

The words almost spill out—how you can’t help but think he looks like an angel when he smiles, or how sometimes you wonder what it would be like to kiss him in a moment like this, your mind drifting to the memory of the two of you dancing in the rain, soaked and laughing as if it’s just the two of you in the world. 

But you’re not sure you’re ready for that. Not with the performance so close, and definitely not when he’s standing here looking at you like that.

Though what that is, you can’t say. Or maybe you’re still too scared to find out.

Instead, you manage a small smile, shrugging. “I don’t know…since we met, it’s just been…magic,” you say quietly, the word barely louder than a whisper.

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, something soft and almost vulnerable, and then he smiles. “Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. He’s close now, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a second, it feels like maybe you’re not the only one feeling this.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to close the distance. Instead, you look away, your heart racing. "So…you’ll be there? For the performance?"

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, his voice sincere, and the way he’s looking at you makes it feel like maybe he means more than just the performance.

When the open mic comes, you’re almost a wreck, nervous and excited all at once. When the night of the open mic finally arrives, you’re a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling each second tick by as the lights dim and the hum of the audience grows. Backstage, you tighten your grip on your guitar, casting one last look through the curtain to see if he’s there. But he isn’t.

A pang of disappointment settles into your chest. You tell yourself he’s probably just running late and that any second, he’ll slip in, giving you that half-smile he always has when he knows he’s kept you waiting. But a part of you can’t shake the small, sinking feeling that maybe…maybe you were hoping for too much.

But Oscar’s never let you down. And you don’t think he’d start now. 

When your turn comes, you take a deep breath and step onto the stage, feeling the warmth of the spotlight, and yet the crowd feels distant—none of them the person you want there the most. Settling into your seat, you scan the room one last time, but he’s still not there.

With a quiet sigh, you look down at your guitar, anchoring yourself in the familiar strings, the melody you’ve practiced countless times. You close your eyes, letting the weight of your feelings pour into the chords, filling every note with the things you’ve never been able to say.

Your voice starts soft, and as you sing, memories start playing in your mind. You think of meeting him at the Freshman orientation, the awkwardness, the fragility of the budding friendship—but you also think of the way you knew he was gonna be a part of your life, the certainty with which you realized you like having him around.

Hey darling, I know looks can be deceiving, But I know I saw a light in you And as we walked, we would talk, And I didn’t say half the things I wanted to.

You picture him beside you, the way his voice dips low when he’s teasing, the way his hand always seems to find yours in crowded spaces, like it’s second nature to him. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sing, the words becoming more and more specific to your story with him.

The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you say my name It's beautiful, wonderful—don’t you ever change.

Each word spills out, heavy and vulnerable, leaving you bare as you play. Every line is something you’ve kept close, something you’ve been afraid to say, and it’s only now, on this stage, that you’re finally able to let it out.

Hey darling, why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same.

Each note, each line is a confession, a quiet vulnerability you let slip through the melody, hoping he hears it—wherever he is. 

As you near the song’s climax, your gaze sweeps over the crowd, people swaying in time with the music, and then, finally, you see him.

He’s standing near the entrance, face slightly flushed, like he’s just rushed in, but he’s there, his eyes fixed on you with a look that sends a surge of warmth straight to your chest.

When he catches you looking, he raises his hand in a small wave, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. The weight on your chest lifts and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, like you’re the only two people in the room, your voice steadying as your gaze stays locked on his.

Hey darling, I could give you 50 reasons why I should be the one you choose.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you can’t help but imagine all those reasons, each one racing through your mind. You could probably give him more than fifty—and every one of them would be true.

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful, but would they write a song for you?

When you sing that line, he chuckles, shaking his head slightly. The sight makes you laugh, your voice softening as you step into the final chorus, feeling like every word has finally found its rightful place.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain So, come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you Can't help it if there's no one else

The last notes hang in the air as you let the final chords fade, your fingers gently leaving the strings. The song comes full circle, wrapping up with the melody that began beneath the oak tree, when you first decided to give this song to him.

The applause swells, and you stand, bowing before making your way backstage, where you know he’ll be waiting. Heart pounding, you step through the curtain, and there he is, leaning against the wall, hands behind his back, looking at you with a combination of expressions you’ve never quite seen on him before—soft, maybe a little nervous, with a hint of pride shining in his eyes.

“You’re late,” you tease, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He smiles sheepishly and, with a slight flourish, pulls a bouquet of your favorite flowers from behind his back. “Turns out flower shops are in high demand on nights like this.”

Your heart melts a little as you take the bouquet, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of the flowers. “You’re forgiven,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He rolls his eyes in playful relief. “Good. You get cranky when you’re mad.” He chuckles as you give him a slight nudge. “C’mon let’s get out of here. Dinner’s on me.”

You nod, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and relief, and hurry to pack up your guitar. As you walk out together, his hand finds its place gently but firmly on your hip, guiding you toward the door. And if you notice the way he pulls you just a little closer, his fingers lingering as if they belong there, you don’t say anything—you just smile and let yourself fall. 

For once, maybe things are exactly as they should be.

Dinner’s casual, nothing too fancy, but there’s a shift in the air. He’s more forward now, his fingers brushing against yours with a confidence you haven’t seen before. He holds your hand a little tighter, his gaze lingering on your lips more often than it ever has.

Lando was right. You knew it. And so did he.

The meal feels familiar—easy laughter, the same teasing banter, inside jokes that still land with ease. But beneath it all, there’s an unspoken tension, a hum in the air that keeps the silence between you both louder than it should be. It’s the quiet weight of a confession that hasn’t been made, but you both feel it there, just waiting for the right moment.

He links your fingers together as you walk back toward your dorm. The night feels like it’s stretching out, slow and deliberate, each step bringing you closer to something inevitable.

You break the silence first. 

“When did you come in?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“A little bit before you sang…” He clears his throat, his smile teasing. He sings the line with a laugh, "The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name, it's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change."

You groan, embarrassed, but can’t help smiling at how effortlessly he teases you. He laughs, full of heart, and says, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Good,” you reply, the words simple but carrying everything you want to say. You lean a little closer, just enough for him to feel the shift in the air between you.

As you reach your door, you stop, heart racing in your chest. You look at him, trying to gauge what he’s feeling, the question that’s been swirling in your mind now impossible to keep inside. 

“Did you get it then? What I meant to say?”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand gently covering yours where it rests on your guitar. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low, “I think I got the message loud and clear.”

Before you can say anything, his fingers brush your cheek, his touch so soft it sends a shiver through you. The world feels like it’s slowing down, the noise of the night receding into the background as he leans in just a little closer. “Play me the song again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “So I can hear it in full.”

You chuckle, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I should’ve just written a song with fifty reasons why it should be me.”

He shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips as his thumb brushes against your skin. “You didn’t need fifty reasons. Just one would’ve been enough.”

“And what would that reason be?” You ask, your breath catching in your throat.

“Because I love you too.”

And then, before you can process anything more, he’s kissing you. It’s soft, tender—like the final note to a song you’ve been playing in your heart for what feels like forever. You melt into the kiss, the world around you vanishing as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that feels like home.

In that quiet moment, as the sounds of the night drift into the background, you realize it was always meant to be this way. All the magic, all the feelings have been there since the day you met. 

Everything falls exactly into place.

[mashtatosworld]

the pursuit

summary: you met him on the set of 'lets not fall in love' - yet you did everything but that

*the start of the 'back to you' series

You’d barely stepped onto set when you felt it - the way his gaze found you immediately, lingering long enough to make your stomach tighten.

Gdragon didn’t introduce himself at first.

He didn’t need to.

He just leaned against the edge of a prop wall, cigarette tucked between his fingers, assessing you.

You weren’t an actress - you’d made that abundantly clear when your agency first floated the idea of you being GDragon’s partner for the Let’s Not Fall In Love video.

But they assured you it would be natural, just soft glances and playful moments, no choreography, no lines - just chemistry.

The kind that could make viewers believe something was there even if nothing was.

And he made that easy.

You tried not to look at him too much between takes. Tried not to focus on the way his gaze felt heavy on your skin, even when you weren’t the one in front of the camera.

GDragon was effortless - a natural magnet, pulling attention with every charming grin. You were… not.

You were new to the industry.

Shiny and unsure, trying to fit yourself into the shape of someone who belonged here.

The rain scene was the worst of it.

Cold water cascading down as you held each other, his hand firm on your waist, the other trailing along your wrist until your fingers intertwined. His touch was light, barely there - but somehow you felt it everywhere.

It was like your body was naturally drawn to his heat.

You were shivering, trying to hide it, smile frozen and cheeks aching. You could feel his nose skim the side of your face, his damp shirt clinging to his chest.

The camera rolled, but all you could think about was how his thumb felt on your hip, firm, and anchoring.

“Cut! Take a break everyone.”

You exhaled sharply, stepping back so fast you almost tripped over the cables. Jiyong stayed still, watching you, tongue running over his lower lip - like he was about to say something, then thought better of it.

It was only when you were wrapped in a towel, sat to the side, waiting for them to release you as they reviewed the footage that he finally approached.

You didn’t expect him to notice your notebook.

You’d been scribbling between takes, half to distract yourself from how intensely aware you were of him, and half because songwriting was your real passion - even if your label didn’t believe you were ready yet.

Jiyong slid onto the bench beside you, casually resting his arms on his legs as he glanced at your lap. “What are you always writing in there?”

You froze. “Just... ideas.”

“For songs?” His brow lifted, curiosity flickering through the playful smile.

You nodded, heart hammering. “I want to focus more on music than modelling. But it's not any good - ”

“Let me see.” He held out his hand, palm up, fingers adorned with silver rings.

You hesitated.

He’d written some of the most iconic songs of the decade - his praise could make or break you. But something about the way he was watching you, genuinely interested, made you slowly pass him the notebook.

He read in silence, brow furrowed, thumb tracing the corner of the page. When he looked up, his smile had softened. “These are good.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, closing the notebook and tapping it against his knee. “Come to my studio sometime. I’ll help.”

“Why would you do that?” You meant it as a genuine question. He was at the peak of his career, churning out songs for his solo album and band. And you were... a ripple in his ocean.

His smile turned lazy, teasing. “Because I want to.”

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You told yourself he’d forget - that it was just a line, something to pass the time between takes. But a day later, your phone lit up with a notification.

[unknown number] Still want help? - Jiyong

You debated ignoring it.

Every article you’d ever read about him flashed through your mind - the scandals, on-again-off-again exes, the late-night clubs. But you rationalised your thoughts.

It wasn't like you were going to get personal with him. This would be strictly business...

So you messaged back.

And you were glad you had ignored the influence of media headlines because the first session was when you truly met Jiyong, not GDragon.

You hovered near the door of his studio, notebook clutched to your chest like a shield. He was different here - hair messy, hoodie low over his face, cigarette dangling from his fingers and a casual smile that only grew when he saw you.

“You’re late.”

“I wasn’t sure I should come.”

His smile didn’t falter. “I'm glad you did.”

You sat beside him, the scent of leather and smoke and something distinctly him wrapping around you. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just played a beat, soft and stripped down, and said, “Sing something.”

Your throat was dry, hands shaking - but you did.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It was always late when he called.

You’d be lying in bed, makeup off, notebook balanced on your knees, when your phone would light up.

[jiyong] Studio tonight x

No please. No explanation. Just an offer you somehow always accepted.

He’d be sprawled on the couch, cigarette smouldering in the ashtray, laptop open with half-finished beats echoing softly.

“I've got a new idea,” he’d say, voice rough from hours of talking to no one.

You’d sit next to him - never too close, yet as time would pass his knee would somehow be pressed against yours. It felt deliberate. Everything with him felt deliberate.

You were writing one night - half asleep, pen dragging across the page - when you felt it.

His fingers.

Just the tips, playing with the ends of your hair. Light, curious, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

He didn’t hide his interest. Not even a little.

There was no slow-build - no confusing signals.

Jiyong wanted you, in a way that made it impossible to pretend you were imagining things.

“You’re scared of me.” He said it casually, during your third session after he had pulled your chair closer to his - dragging it by the legs.

“No, I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You glared at him, but he just grinned, all bad-boy charm and impossible warmth. “You’ll get used to me.”

He wasn’t wrong.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The song - your song - dropped a week after Let’s Not Fall In Love hit the charts.

He had gifted it to you, passing over the rights entirely despite his effort and inputs. It was yours to do as you pleased.

You decided against a music video or promotional press, just a quiet link posted on Jiyong’s Instagram at 3:14am with no caption.

By noon, it was trending.

The comments were split - some fans insisting you were the new girl he was seeing, others trying to figure out who the hell you were. No one could agree on what you were to him. A muse? A collaborator? A random model who got lucky?

You knew the truth - you were his project.

His distraction.

The shiny new thing he couldn’t stop poking at.

You kept a measured distance, even as your inbox filled with interview requests and producers asking to meet. You hadn’t expected this to happen - not so fast, not this loud.

Your agency was thrilled.

They called you "lucky."

You weren’t sure luck was the word.

This was a pursuit.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The rumours started when someone caught you leaving his building at 5am, his jacket hanging off your shoulders.

Your agency had freaked out.

“It’s nothing,” you said in a meeting the next day, heart pounding as you forced yourself to sound casual. “We’re just writing.”

They didn’t believe you.

You didn’t believe you.

Because “just writing” didn’t explain the way he leaned into you when you sat at the mic, adjusting your headphones himself, fingers lingering against your jaw.

“Just writing” didn’t explain how he always walked you to the elevator, even when there were a dozen staff around who could’ve done it.

“Just writing” didn’t explain why your heart pounded every time you saw his name light up your phone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The first time you performed your duet you were shaking so badly you nearly dropped the mic.

It was meant to be a one-off stage appearence.

A fan treat.

A casual collaboration.

But he added it as a staple part of his setlist.

The moment Jiyong walked out, hand in pocket, signature smirk pulling at his lips, the crowd screamed like they already knew what was to come.

He stood too close.

His eyes followed your every move.

And when the bridge hit, his hand found your lower back, pulling you into him like the cameras didn’t exist.

When the performance ended, he leaned down and whispered, “See? Told you we’re perfect together.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The internet spiralled.

Edits of you and Jiyong flooded every corner of social media - the rain scene from the music video, the too-close moments on stage, the way his hand never quite left your body. Every time he looked at you, fans slowed it down, captioning it:

He’s obsessed.

He’s soft.

He’s in love.

You tried to brush it off.

At first, you were worried he’d hate the rumours - the idea of being tied to a rookie, someone unproven, someone with no legacy.

But instead, he leaned into it.

He started requesting you at festivals.

He refused to perform the song with anyone else.

And during interviews, when asked about his ideal type, he’d just laugh - low and knowing - and say, “Who do you think?”

He was pursuing you in public, no apologies, no caution.

And it worked.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Within months, the rumours stopped being rumours.

You were inseparable - a constant presence at each other’s sides, onstage and off. The industry might’ve called you reckless, but neither of you cared.

It was fast.

It was intense.

It was everything.

And by the time he slipped that ring on your finger, eight months after your first songs release - in a quiet moment between tour stops, both of you tangled up in the same hotel bed you hadn’t left all day - you knew.

You’d never stood a chance.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

no wonder she's so loved, diva was ten years in the making!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure

[societyfolklore]

Under Brooklyn Stars

Title: Under Brooklyn Stars Pairing: Young!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  On a sweltering summer night in 1936, you and Bucky Barnes find yourselves alone on your shared rooftop escape. What starts as quiet conversation about dreams of leaving Brooklyn turns into something far more intense- something neither of you can hold back anymore.

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Childhood friends to lovers, Smut, Fluff, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Young/teen love (Both 18+ though), Messy Kisses, Semi Public Sex (roof top)

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event Square: B1 – Childhood Friends to Lovers   Card Number: 4B003 The rooftop had always been your special place. You’d all been coming up here for a while now, somewhere private when your family's apartment started to feel too small, and you were getting too old to just ‘wander around.’ Your father didn’t think it was ‘ladylike’ or 'proper' to be sitting out on the stoop with teenage boys, even though you, Steve, and Bucky had all been friends since Mrs. Jackson's class in elementary school. The roof remained your secret escape from the loud siblings, nosey parents, stuffy rooms, and the judging eyes of the Brooklyn borough. It was where you'd grown up in quiet rebellion- where laughter echoed into the night, where secrets were whispered between best friends, and where the lines between childhood and something more had slowly started to blur.

Steve had been with you earlier, but he’d left to walk his mother home from her shift at the hospital, leaving you and Bucky alone.

Tonight, the heat still clung to the buildings, wrapping around you like a heavy embrace. The salty tang of the East River carried on the breeze, mingling with the smoky scent of grilled meat from street vendors and the faint, lingering warmth of sunbaked brick. Bucky lay out on the picnic blanket you’d dragged up here weeks ago, long legs stretched out, his sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone at the collar. The book in his hands- your book- propped open against his chest, well-loved pages fluttering slightly in the warm air.

“You plannin’ some kind of great escape, Doll?” he teased, turning the book toward you to show the scribbled notes in the margins of Around the World in 80 Days.

You shrugged, a little embarrassed as you stepped away from the rooftop’s edge and back toward the blanket as you sat down, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, suddenly self-conscious. “Can’t stay in the boroughs forever.”

He hummed, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips. “No? And where would you go?”

“Everywhere.” The dream was foolish- impossible, even. But you admired the Irish neighbours who had come searching for something more. If they could do it, why couldn’t you? “Anywhere I don’t know...London, Paris, see the Pyramids, ride the Orient Express, sail on a Junk Boat around the waters of Hong Kong.." 

You felt his eyes on you, the way he’d put the book down and rolled onto his side, fully focused. That was the thing about Bucky- when he listened, he really listened.

“What about you?” you asked, tilting your head to study him.

“Me?” His brows lifted slightly, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“What would make you happy?”

For a moment, he hesitated, something unreadable passing through his blue eyes before he murmured, “Dunno, sweetheart. Think I’d be happy if I just had you.”

The words hit you like a strike of lightning, stealing the air from your lungs. When had he started looking at you like that? Smiling at you like that? This was Bucky- the same boy who had once handed you his lost tooth so you could get extra pocket money for sweets. The same boy who had splashed you with river water after you’d shoved him in with Steve, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. You had grown up together, had spent years tangled in each other’s lives, but this- this wasn’t the same.

Bucky was always charming, always saying sweet things- but this wasn’t just teasing anymore. His voice held something deeper, something raw and unguarded, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your lips parted, but no words came. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with the gentlest touch. The warmth of his fingertips lingered against your skin, making your stomach twist into something hot and desperate.

“Bet nowhere on earth’s prettier than those eyes of yours,” he murmured.

Your breath caught. The city buzzed faintly beneath you, a distant hum of life carrying on, while above, the stars shimmered like scattered diamonds. But none of it mattered- all you could focus on was the man beside you, the way his eyes darkened as he leaned in, closing the space between you. And when Bucky leaned in, closing the space between you, you didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant- like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his lips moved against yours with slow, aching intent.

And then it changed.

Desire tightened in your chest, years of unspoken longing unraveling all at once, too much to contain. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as your mouths collided again, desperate now. You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss as his fingers traced the curve of your spine, dragging you closer. Heat surged between you, and suddenly, the summer air wasn’t the only thing making you feel breathless.

“Bucky,” you whispered, barely a plea, barely a warning.

He groaned, his hands shaking slightly as they slid down your waist, fingertips gripping at the fabric of your dress like he needed something to hold onto. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, open-mouthed kisses against fevered skin. Your heart pounded, body thrumming with a heat that had nothing to do with the summer night.

You pushed your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly just to hear the low, needy sound that escaped his throat. He pulled you fully onto his lap, the rough fabric of his trousers pressing against your bare thighs. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skimming over your thighs, tracing soft patterns against your skin before his touch became more insistent, more certain. He was hesitant, but not unsure- like he was savouring each new inch of you, learning your body as he went. The contrast of his rough fingers against your soft skin sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly as he explored, as if committing every touch to memory.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, like he was overwhelmed, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. His hands flexed against your hips, fingers digging in like he needed to ground himself.

Your breath hitched as you shifted against him, the pressure between your bodies making your stomach tighten, making you both gasp. A blush burned hot across your cheeks, the intimacy of it all hitting you suddenly- how close you were, how little space was left between you.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath ragged, blue eyes blown wide as he searched your face. “We don’t- ” he started, voice thick, unsure.

“I know,” you interrupted, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, your own breath unsteady. “But I don’t want to stop.”

His lips crashed against yours again, any hesitation melting away as need overtook caution. His hands roamed, his touch firmer now, like he’d accepted what was happening, what you both wanted. You gasped into his mouth as his hands pushed your dress higher, his palms skimming up your thighs, rough fingertips sending sparks through your skin.

“You know,” he muttered between kisses, his lips brushing against your jaw, “I’ve wanted to touch you for so damn long.”

Your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, his nose grazing yours. “Since when?”

He groaned softly, fingers flexing against your thighs. “Since I saw you kiss Sam Haynsworth in the park.”

You winced at the memory. Unlike Bucky, Sam had practically drooled into your mouth, and the recollection of it made you cringe. “God, don’t remind me.”

Bucky chuckled, but there was something darker, hungrier in the way his hands tightened around your waist. “Was jealous as hell, y’know?” His voice was low, rough. “Wanted to be the one kissin’ you like that… bein’ the one touchin’ you.”

Heat curled low in your belly, his confession sending a fresh wave of want through you. “Bucky…”

“Wanna touch you so bad,” he whispered, his lips tracing a heated path down your throat, his hands sliding higher under your dress, fingertips grazing over the soft cotton of your underwear. A shaky breath escaped you as he rubbed slow, teasing circles, pressing just enough to make your thighs tremble around him.

A soft sound slipped from your lips, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Bucky let out a low, shuddering breath at the movement. His other hand gripped your waist, grounding you against him, against the undeniable hardness beneath his slacks. The heat between you burned hotter, more desperate. You reached down, fingers fumbling against the fabric of his trousers, feeling the solid length of him beneath your palm. He sucked in a sharp breath, forehead pressing against yours as he let out a low, needy curse.

“I’d be so good to you, Doll, if you let me,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint. “You want that, don'cha?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, overwhelmed by how much you did want it, how much you wanted him.

“I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go,” he promised, his fingers pressing more firmly, sending a shiver through you. His lips brushed yours, teasing, coaxing. “Just tell me you’re my girl.”

Your breath trembled as you met his gaze, the weight of his words pressing into you as much as his touch.

"I'm your girl," you whispered, the confession slipping past your lips before you could second-guess it.

Bucky's breath hitched, and then he was moving, shifting, his hands firm yet careful as he eased you down onto the picnic blanket. The fabric was warm against your back, but all you could focus on was him- his weight pressing into you, the way his breath ghosted over your skin. He hovered for a moment, eyes searching yours, like he was memorizing this, savouring the way you looked beneath him before he finally dipped down, capturing your lips again in a kiss that was all heat and promise. His body flush against yours, the weight of him pressing you into the softness below. His mouth found yours again, hungrier now, lips parting to deepen the kiss as his hands roamed- gripping, teasing, worshipping.

His fingers slipped back beneath your dress again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles through the thin cotton of your underwear, drawing out breathless gasps from you. Your thighs trembled, hips rolling instinctively into his touch, craving more, needing more. Bucky groaned, his forehead pressing to yours as he watched you, his expression dark with want. "Bu-Buck.." Your voice getting stuck in your throat as your mouth went dry. 

“You feel so good,” he rasped, his fingers dipping just a little lower, teasing the edge of the fabric. “Been dreamin’ about this, Doll… ‘bout you.”

Your breath hitched as your hand found him again, palming him through his slacks, feeling how hard he was, how much he needed this- how much he needed you. His hips jerked at the contact, a low curse slipping from his lips as he dropped his head against your shoulder.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You’re gonna a guy doing that.”

But he didn’t stop. Instead, he seized the moment, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down over your thighs and knees. His first brush of his fingers against your bare skin sent a sharp jolt through you, a choked gasp slipping from your lips. He groaned at the sound, his forehead pressing to yours as his fingers explored, stroking through the damp heat he found there.

“Good?” he rasped, voice thick with want. “Been thinking about this, about you, for so damn long, how you'd feel. All the little noises you'd make." 

Your fingers, trembling with urgency, found the button of his slacks, undoing it with clumsy desperation. He sucked in a sharp breath as your hand slipped inside, wrapping around him properly for the first time. The weight, the heat of him in your palm, had you swallowing hard, a thrill rushing through you at the way his whole body tensed beneath your touch.

“Christ Doll..” he groaned, hips jerking instinctively into your grip. “Ya keep doin’ that- ”

You stroked him slowly, revelling in the way his breath hitched, in the way his fingers momentarily faltered against you before resuming their teasing, sinful movements. He was unravelling, just as much as you were, the rooftop heat wrapping around you both, the world narrowing to just him.

Bucky’s fingers curled slightly, pressing into you just right, pulling a sharp moan from your throat. He didn’t stop, pushing deeper, his pace slow but deliberate, drawing out every little sound from you that he could. Your hips lifted to meet him, your thighs trembling as he stretched you open, teasing that spot inside you that made your breath hitch.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, eyes dark and searching. "You like that, don’tcha?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek. "Feels good?"

You nodded, your breath shuddering. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "So good, Bucky. Please- don’t stop."

He groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his fingers moved faster, sliding in and out with more purpose, more confidence now that he knew just how much you wanted it. "Jesus, Doll," he muttered,. "You’re so tight… squeezing me so damn good." He lowered his head nipping lightly at your neck.

Your whole body tighten at his words, and as you pumped him in return, wrapping your fingers tighter around him, Bucky let out a strangled curse. The combination of your touch, the way your body responded to him- it was too much.

“Fuck,” he gritted, his hips jerking into your hand, his fingers faltering inside you for just a moment before he pulled them away. His lips crashed onto yours, desperate and wild, as he yanked your dress up past your waist, hands shaking with need. "Can’t take it- need you, Doll. Need all of you. Now." 

You whimpered in response, fumbling at his slacks, pushing them down his hips with clumsy urgency, your hands shaking just as much as his. He helped, shoving them down far enough for you to feel the hot, rigid length of him pressing against your thigh. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your body tensing in anticipation.

“Bucky,” you gasped as he settled between your legs, his weight pressing you into the blanket, the sheer need in his expression making your breath stutter.

His breath hitched, pulling back to take in your face. “Tell me you want this,” his eyes pleading, he needed to hear it just once more.

“I want this," you whispered, arching into him, your legs wrapping around his waist. "I want you."

A low, broken moan escaped him, and then he was kissing you again, his hands gripping your hips as he pushed forward, as the last barrier between you was lost.

And then, for a moment, everything stilled.

Your breaths mingled, hot and uneven, filling the space between you as your bodies adjusted to the closeness, the intensity, the overwhelming feeling of it all. His forehead dropped to yours, both of you panting, bodies trembling, hearts racing in sync.

Bucky’s hands flexed against your hips, as if grounding himself, his grip firm but reverent. “Jesus,” he murmured, voice wrecked, his lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing, just feeling you. "You- You alright, Doll?"

You nodded, chest rising and falling against his, your fingers threading into his hair as you breathed him in. "Yeah," you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. "You?"

This wasn’t your first time, but it might as well have been. Nothing before had ever felt like this- this heat, this intensity, the way every nerve in your body seemed attuned to him, how every shift, every breath, sent sparks through your veins. It was different because it was him- because it was Bucky.

He let out a shuddering breath, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "I don’t ever wanna forget this," he confessed, the admission raw, vulnerable. "You feel so good."

Your hands smoothed down his back, nails lightly raking over his skin, anchoring yourself to him. "Me neither," you murmured. "I need you to move, Buck. Please."

He groaned at your words, at the way you tightened your legs around him, silently urging him on. And then, slowly, he did, rolling his hips, setting a rhythm that made stars explode behind your eyes, your head falling back with a breathless moan.

Bucky cursed under his breath, burying his face against your neck as he moved, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. "God, Doll... you feel so damn good," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, with need. "Been wantin' you like this for so long."

You gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as his body rocked into yours, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. "Me too, Bucky," you whispered, voice shaking. "Feels arh so good... don't stop."

His pace stuttered at your words, a groan breaking from his lips as he kissed you, messy and desperate. His hands slid down your thighs, gripping them tighter as he drove into you, the slow, deep drag of him making your breath catch. The night air wrapped around you both, the rooftop world fading as all you could focus on was him- his weight, his heat, the way he filled you so perfectly. "God! Oh God- Buck."  Your voice getting higher as each stroke sent pleasure up your spine, your body tightening around him. He felt it- felt you trembling beneath him, felt the way your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper. "Yeah Doll- That’s it," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "C'mon, sweetheart. Give it to me."

The tension inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you in a dizzying wave. You cried out, your body clenching around him, and Bucky let out a strangled moan, his hips movements growing erratic. He tried to hold on, to make this last, but feeling you fall apart around him, the way you gasped his name- it undid him completely.

"Fuck- Doll- " His hips jerked, his rhythm breaking as he buried himself deep, his release overtaking him. His breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps as he pressed his forehead to yours, holding you so tightly like he was afraid to let go.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your breaths mingled, still uneven, both of you trying to steady the whirlwind of sensations still coursing through your bodies. The stars blinked above, the hum of Brooklyn alive in the distance, but here- wrapped up in each other- it was quiet. Just the two of you, bodies tangled, hearts pounding in sync.

Bucky brushed his nose against yours, his lips ghosting over your cheek before pressing the softest kiss to your temple. "You okay?"

You smiled, breathless, brushing a hand through his damp hair. "More than okay. You?"

He let out a low chuckle, kissing you again, slow and lingering. "Never been better, Doll."

The rooftop was quiet, sacred, the summer air wrapping around you both as you lay tangled together, skin still warm, hearts still racing.

Bucky exhaled, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. "Guess we finally got our escape, huh?" He smiled against your skin, voice warm and drowsy, as if the whole world had narrowed down to just this- just you. "Maybe not the one you planned, but still pretty damn perfect."

You hummed, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. "Guess so."

He shifted, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers, eyes searching yours. "Still wanna see the world?"

You nodded, a soft smile playing at your lips. "Yeah. But I think I found the most important part already."

Bucky grinned, brushing his lips over yours in the faintest kiss, his voice nothing but a whisper against your skin. "Wherever you go, Doll… I go too."

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

[dimlylittorch]

Viktor won the Valentines Day poll! Yall enjoy✍️🙂‍↕️

My Masterlist🌱

Viktor x pre-op!transmasc!reader

small synopsis: Valentine’s Day was a tradition in Piltover- not Zaun. Viktor never quite acclimated to the holiday.. until he had a reason to.

Viktor never considered himself lucky. Whether that be in life or in love- it never struck him as something he was blessed with. Everything he valued in himself, he felt he earned. He pushed himself to learn, and he worked himself to the bone to gain any sort of status in the scientific community. Nothing was gifted to him- that was something he had accepted early on. He just wasn’t worthy of things being easy. Well- he believed that for a long time. Until you showed up.

When Jayce informed Viktor that there would be a new assistant joining their team, he thought nothing of it. If you were anything like the others you would stay in the background and keep to yourself, only stepping forward when asked. But you were something different entirely. You were like Jayce in a way- charming and unafraid to be yourself. But there was no arrogance from what he could see, just a kind demeanor with a sweet temperament. Often Jayce would flash his dashing debonair smile to get what he wanted from potential investors or politicians. That was where the two of you differed- your smile was never faked, or simply put up for your own gain. It seemed to be practically glued to your face.

He couldn’t stand it at first. That sweet grin and soft chuckle you’d supply at every waking moment- how could he not hate it? He didn’t have anything to be that happy about- that content with. He often imagined what kind of person you were when you were all alone. Did the smile remain? Or were you more like Jayce than he thought? It annoyed him- how often his thoughts were consumed by you, his new assistant. Your purpose was to help him, yet you felt like nothing but a distraction. He worked slower when you were in his presence, errors ever more common when you were in his line of sight.

No amount of glares and sharp snaps of his tone sent you scurrying away. If anything you seemed amused by it all. Like you could see through his tough act- or maybe you even liked how he treated you. Surely a sweet thing like yourself knew you deserved better than working under him? He was never outright rude, but he wasn’t exactly a warm welcome whenever you walked into the lab. The longer you stayed, the more bold you became. You learned to combat his grumpiness with your quick wittedness.. something he never thought he’d find so attractive. On paper, someone who replied to him in a playful manner made him cringe. Yet.. when you did it? He could feel something stir in his chest.

He dreaded Valentine’s Day. Arguably more than any other holiday. It was a holiday that came around every year, just to remind him of his loneliness. He had no issues with being single- more so the fact that it wasn’t by choice. He wasn’t any standard of beauty, and having a bad leg certainly didn’t help anything. He was smart, yes, but charming? Nothing like his partner. He had no life outside of his work and his profession, where he was constantly overshadowed by Jayce. Was there truly any point in trying to shine when there were brighter stars so close?

As much as he tried to ignore the holiday as a whole, it was difficult with the parties, chocolates, love notes- it was everywhere. Haunting him like a ghost with a personal vendetta. This one day in particular made him wonder if he could’ve avoided it all by staying in the Undercity, having never crawled up from the gutters and making a name for himself. One silly holiday had a hold on him like no other.

Imagine his surprise when he arrived at the lab to find an envelope on his desk. He set his cane aside, leaning over the desk and picking it up. When he read the front, his eyes widened and for a moment his brain froze. It had his name written on it, with a few hearts scribbled on the blank space. He hesitantly turned it over, opening the envelope and pulling out a piece of paper. His eyes scanned over the words, a pit forming in his stomach. A love letter. To him, of all people.

‘Dear Viktor,

I know this probably seems silly. It feels silly writing it. Well, more than that. I feel idiotic for confessing my feelings to you like a teenager. It’s hard to put into words how you make me feel. My day gets brighter when I have the opportunity to see you. And my nights are darker, knowing you’re probably in the lab, working yourself half to death. I know you’re a logical man, Viktor. So let me put this as logically as I can. Your presence makes my chest ache, my mind race, and my thoughts drift. You do something irreparable to me. It feels significant enough that you deserve to know. My perception of you should cause you no concern, but you reserve the right to understand how I view you. Forgive me for being so blunt. I look forward to seeing you at the party tonight. If you choose not to attend, I will have my response, clear as day.

With love, your secret admirer.’

He could hardly breathe. A secret admirer? At least his ‘secret admirer’ was self aware enough to understand how silly this was. He felt like he was a teenager again with the way his heart was racing at the thought of someone having a crush on him. Maybe it was just a joke.. one meant to get his hopes up. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened in his lifetime. Well, whatever it was, it was a problem. And an even bigger problem? The fact that he hoped it was you. Perhaps, just this once, lady luck placed a bet on him.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you wrote that note. You knew Valentine’s Day was right around the corner, and Viktor didn’t seem to have anyone in his life.. it seemed like you had a fair chance. But ever since you’d dropped that note off, your heart was in your stomach. He was a genius for Christ’s sake. What would he ever want to do with you? Well, it was too late now. You already left the note on his desk, and all you could do was go to that party. As much as you wanted to back out, imagine how disappointed he might be if no one approached him? If he thought it was some mean joke?

And if he didn’t go to the party, you’d have some kind of indication if he could even be remotely interested. If he showed up, at least there was some kind of chance, right? You knew he didn’t like the parties Jayce asked him to attend every so often, so surely he wouldn’t go unless he was interested. And if he wasn’t there.. he never knew it was you. You could go back to your normal work relationship with him none the wiser. It was simple. (It was anything but simple.)

Standing alone at a party was a special kind of awkward. One he had become quite accustomed to. It was the same tonight like every other, standing in a corner and watching the crowd while sipping on a drink. He had been here for almost an hour, with no sign of anyone approaching. He couldn’t help but frown, wondering if he should’ve stayed in the comfort of his room. At least there he didn’t have to feel eyes on him everywhere he went.

After a small while, he glanced to his right and saw you approaching him. Maybe you were just coming to say hello. It didn’t.. it didn’t have to mean anything.

“Enjoying the party?” You smiled as you stood next to him, your eyes downcast.

A sigh left him, and he shifted his cane into his other hand. He had waited long enough, and so far you seemed like the only possibility. He wasn’t one to let things lie. “You’re quite the little writer.” He says dryly. “‘I do something irreparable to you’, hm? Tell me more about that, won’t you?”

Your smile fades and you cross your arms over your chest, looking out into the crowd. “I didn’t think you’d come.” You murmur.

“That is not what I asked.”

Letting out a faint breath, you turn towards one of the entryways out onto the balconies. “Maybe we should talk out here.” You said quietly.

“Perhaps a bit of privacy is needed, yes.” He replies, setting his drink aside as you did the same.

When the two of you are out on the empty balcony, you close the doors to give you a bit of privacy. Walking over to the balcony, you rest your arms on the stone railing.

“I didn’t think you had a Valentine.” You said faintly.

Hearing the click of his cane, he walked up next to you and mirrored your movements.

“I don’t.”

Glancing up at him, you take in his form. As beautiful as he was while invested in his work, he was remarkable outside of the lab, his pale skin practically shimmering in the moonlight.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Me either.”

After a few quiet moments, he spoke again.

“That was quite childish.” He spoke softly. “A love letter? Signing it as my ‘secret admirer’?” He smirked.

A small smile formed on your lips, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t going to tell you in person, that’s for sure. You might’ve hit me with your cane.”

“And who says I won’t?” He chuckles quietly. “It was a silly stunt to pull. But I can admit, it is a very.. you thing to do.”

Shaking your head with amusement, you turn towards him. “You came to the party. You must at least be a little interested.”

He glances down at you, his smile gone. “Interested isn’t the right word.”

Your smile fades as well, and you look downcast. “You came to tell me you weren’t looking for a relationship, is that it?”

After a few moments of silence, you feel the cold metal handle of his cane on your chin. You flinch slightly, but your face is being guided up, your eyes meeting his own.

“Intrigued. I was intrigued.” He says faintly. “I had a fair guess that it was you.. if it was, I felt it was necessary to share my sentiment.” He speaks as he pulls an envelope out of his pocket. Handing it to you, you take it and read the front. It has your name, and a singular, small heart next to it. “Read this. I’ve had enough of the party.. but if you should need me, you are welcome to the lab.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but reach out, grabbing his arm. “Wait- wait” you say quickly. “This- this was meant to be romantic.. not just us flirting in the lab like every other day. Surely you want something more? Right?” You ask softly, your eyes pleading.

Before you can say anything else, you feel yourself being pulled towards the wall, Viktor yanking on your arm and pushing you towards the wall. You huff when your back hits the stone, realizing the nook you were in kept you hidden from any view through the balcony doors. Your head lands against the vines growing up the wall, and when you look up you see Viktor leaning over you.

“You can be remarkably dull when you want to be.” He says dryly, his hand reaching up above your head, picking a red rose off of one of the vines. “It wasn’t my preference to do this here..” he mutters, sticking the rose in your front jacket pocket. “But since you insist.”

Without another word, his lips are on yours. Your eyes widen, your body freezing under his touch. You feel his hand slip up into your hair, pulling you towards him as he kisses you. He wasn’t sure where this burst of confidence came from- but something about you gazing up at him.. it drove him mad. He had hoped you would read the note, sitting in stunned silence as he walked back to the lab, making preparations to have his way with you there. But no, you had to throw his plans to the wind, just like you always did.

As soon as your brain registers his actions, you kiss him back, your hands reaching up to cup his face. After a moment you pull his face away, looking up at him with confusion. “Viktor..” you whisper softly. “I didn’t think-“

He cuts you off, leaning down to press small kisses along your neck. “That is so often your problem.” He groans as his hand slips down to cup your chest. “You do not think.”

Letting out a weak gasp, you squirm under his touch, cupping his chin and pulling him away from you again. “You really want this?” You ask softly as you gaze up at him.

With a sigh, he reaches into your pocket where you had stuffed his letter, opening it and reading it. “‘You never fail to surprise me. Allow me to surprise you for once. Come to the lab. You will not be disappointed.’” He reads from the paper. “If you had had a little patience, assistant.” He muses. “Perhaps you would be comfortably resting on my desk while I tended to your every whim.”

Your mouth falls open, the look making him chuckle quietly. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours once more before pulling away, grabbing his cane and stepping back. “Viktor-“ you start to say, but he holds his hand up, silencing you.

“You will come to the lab. As much as I would like to do as I please with you here.. I’d rather we keep our affairs as our own, yes?” He smirks before walking towards the doors, opening them and disappearing into the crowd.

I’m sorry this is so short😭 it was definitely a last minute writing. But I hope you all had a nice Valentine’s Day!!

[lvnleah]

Sunrise Morning’s | Alessia Russo

Based on this request :)

Summary: your 3-year-old twins decide it’s a great idea to wake you and Alessia up and go to the beach.

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A flight to Italy used to be easy for you and your wife Alessia, it was a flight that was just short of three hours but now that you were travelling with your three year old twins the flight felt like it lasted forever.

Your three year old twins, Leo and Emilia, were fairly easy three year olds. You and Alessia had gotten lucky because ever since they were born they had been easy babies.

You were halfway through the flight, there was still an hour to go out of the 2 hours and 30 minutes the flight was. The first hour the twins spent napping, Leo napped on Alessia’s chest and Emilia napped on yours.

“Mama, I hungry!” Emilia whined, slouching in the plane seat, “So bored!”

“Not much longer now, Bubs,” you said, pulling Emilia’s top back down as it slipped up, “Would you like a snack?”

She nodded her head and sat up, you pulled the snack box out of your bag. As you reached for the snack box, Leo’s eyes widened with curiosity. He was sat on Alessia’s lap, still sleepy from his nap as he rested his head against her chest.

Leo had always been more of a Mumma’s boy, he was attached to Alessia and went everywhere with her but he had your personality. However, Emilia was more of a Mama’s girl and was clingy to you. She was the louder one of the pair and was a little chatterbox like Alessia, she even was as clumsy as her Mumma.

Leo’s little fingers pointed at the colourful packaging as he leaned forward, trying to get a better look. Alessia shifted him on her lap, her gentle smile mirroring your own.

“Leo, do you want a snack too?” you asked, opening the box and revealing an assortment of crackers, dried fruit, and mini sandwiches.

Emilia had already grabbed a handful of pretzels and was munching away, her hunger temporarily forgotten as she watched the movie on the screen in front of her.

Leo nodded his head, his dirty blonde curls falling in front of his face. You held the box out to him as he leaned over Emilia, he picked out a few small cookies before going back to resting his head on Alessia’s chest.

After a while, Leo started to squirm in his seat beside Alessia that he had moved to. Emilia was still invested in her movie but Leo was starting to become restless.

“Mama, I’m bored.” Leo whined, “We nearly there yet?”

You glance at Alessia, both of you sharing a knowing look. Travelling with young children was always a ride for sure, and this flight was no exception. You reached into your bag again, pulling out a small colouring book and a set of crayons.

"Hey, Leo," Alessia says, leaning over the seat to hand him the colouring book, "How about we colour together? Look, there's a picture of an airplane!"

Leo's eyes lit up, and he eagerly took the colouring book. Alessia shifted him slightly, making room for him to sit up and colour. Meanwhile, Emilia glances over, intrigued by the activity.

"Can I colour too?" she asked, pulling the earphones out of her ears.

"Of course!" Alessia replied, handing her a crayon. "What colour should we make the sky?"

Emilia chose blue, and soon both twins were engrossed in their colouring. Leo carefully stayed within the lines, while Emilia scribbled with enthusiasm.

As you watched your children, you felt a mix of exhaustion and joy. Flights used to be so much easier when they were babies and sometimes you felt like you were disturbing the people around you.

"Only one more hour," Alessia whispered, “Then we can palm them off on my parents.”

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You and Alessia had now been in Italy with the twins for a few days now, you’d spent that time visiting Alessia’s family, catching up with them and spending days at the beach. You were staying at her grandparents house and they loved the twins, meaning you and Alessia got some time to yourself.

Over the past couple of days, Emilia and Leo had fallen in love with the beach. You’d spent hours on the beach with them and Alessia’s family, every evening it was all they could talk about.

It was currently five in the morning, Alessia’s arm was draped over your stomach whilst her head rested in the crook of your neck. You heard your bedroom door creak open, the sound of tiny feet tapping against the cold floor tiles followed.

"Mama, Mama!" Leo's voice sounded, barely above a whisper, "Can we go swimming? Please?"

Emilia echoed him, her curls bouncing as she climbed on the bed. "Swimming, Mama!"

You hummed, rubbing your eyes as you rolled over onto your back, “Babies, what are you doing up?”

“We wanna go beach, Mama!” Leo smiled, climbing up and sitting on top of you.

A ground sound from Alessia as Emilia flopped on top of her, her sleepy confusion melted into a soft smile as she reached for Emilia, pulling her into a warm hug.

“Bubs, it’s too early,” Alessia murmured, her hand running through Emilia’s golden curls.

"But the beach!" Leo's eyes widened, and he pointed toward the window. "Look! Beach!”

You sighed, “Guys the sun isn’t even up yet, we need to wait for mr sun to wake up before we can go!”

Emilia’s smile turned into a quivering lower lip, slipping out of Alessia’s grip. “No fair, Mama! We want beach now!”

Leo kicked his legs in protest. “Sunrise takes too long, Mama!”

Alessia sat up, “Leo, no. We don’t kick okay?” She said, a stern look that you could never take seriously on her face, “No kicking.”

“Sorry Mumma,” he mumbled, “I just want to go beach!”

Leo flopped on your chest, “And we can bubba, just not right now.” You calmly explained, kissing his forehead, “We can go later on, how about we cuddle.”

“No!” Emilia whined, “We want beach!”

You glanced at Alessia, who smiled as you sighed. You knew the twins wouldn’t fall back to sleep and they definitely weren’t giving in about the beach any time soon.

"Maybe we should just take them," she whispered. "They won't let us sleep anyway."

You nodded, glancing at the time beside you on the clock. 4:50am. Once the twins had gotten their breakfast, you would make it just in time for sunrise.

“Okay, okay!” You gave in, the twins cheering in unison, “we’ll go to the beach, but first we need breakfast!”

“I love you, Mama!” Leo cheered, wrapping his arms around your neck.

You slipped out of bed and threw on a baggy hoodie and black shorts before carrying Emilia downstairs, Alessia carried Leo close behind you.

The twins sat at the kitchen island, chatting between themselves as they coloured whilst you and Alessia tagged teamed on making breakfast. Alessia made breakfast for you and her while you cut up some fruit and pancakes for the twins.

Before you knew it, it was 5:20am and you were getting the twins ready to head to the beach. You dressed Emilia in a little sundress and Leo in a linen shirt and shorts set.

Alessia secured them in the double stroller, and you set off towards the beach. The air smelled of salt as you walked along the narrow back path that led to the see front. The twins chattered about sandcastles and seashells, their excitement contagious.

As you reached the beach, the sky began to blush with pink and orange hues. The twins squealed, pointing at the water. "Look, Mama! Look!"

You and Alessia settled onto a sun chair together, your toes sinking into the sand. The twins wasted no time getting out of the stroller, their little hands scooping up sand to build castles.

The sun peeked above the horizon, casting a warm glow on the water. You was cuddled into Alessia, your head resting against her chest.

“This is perfect.” She murmured, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Mumma look!” Emilia called out to Alessia, pointing at her sandcastle, “look at my castle!”

Alessia gasped, matching the little girls enthusiasm, “Wow bubs!” She smiled, “that’s amazing! Are you going to decorate it?”

“Yeah!” Leo nodded his head, “we find some shells!”

The twins ran around, collecting a bucket of shells to decorate their castles with. You and Alessia watched peacefully together as the sun rose around you.

After an hour or so, the twins' energy slowed down and they curled up on the sun chair beside you. Leo yawned, rubbing his eyes. Emilia curled up against him, her thumb in her mouth.

Their little eyelids began to flutter as they drifted off to sleep. Alessia stood up and covered their bodies with her jumper, tucking them in before rejoining you on the sun chair. She laid down on top of you, her head now resting on your chest.

“We’re so lucky,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

You pressed your lips to her forehead. “We are,” you agreed, “I’m glad we came down here.”

You and Alessia laid together, cuddled into each other's embrace, while the twins peacefully slept together. You watched the sunrise, the different shades mixing together, as you talked about your future. Nothing else in the world mattered to you in the moment, only your little family mattered.

[idkyetxoxo]

Two | Thin Lines | The Ruin

Pairing - Rhysand x reader (Mafia Boss Rhysand x Nurse Reader)

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - None

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Another shift. Another day of pretending.

Pretending the long hours weren't dragging the life out of me. Pretending the hollow ache in my chest wasn't growing heavier every time I passed another silent room, another patient too far gone. Pretending that the smiles I wore were anything but armour—thin and cracking.

Only this time... 

This time, I saw him. Rhysand.

It started slowly. Like a shadow out of place, a scent I couldn't name lingering too long. He was always just there, a step behind, a figure leaning against the wall, a flash of violet eyes watching quietly from the other end of the corridor.

I told myself it was nothing. He was just visiting his friend. Nothing unusual about that. Except he wasn't anywhere near his friend's room. He was everywhere I was.

Every shift, I found him. Or maybe he found me.

And now, here I was. Again.

I turned the corner, clutching my too-light lunch, a container of cold pasta and a dog-eared notebook filled with half-finished scribbles carefully. 

The hallway was dimly lit, quiet. My spot. My break.

Except tonight, he was already there. He was sitting on my gurney—my damn gurney like he owned it. 

Still in that charcoal suit that looked custom-cut to his frame, the lapels sharp, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to make me forget how to walk in a straight line.

My pulse jumped. I stopped short. He didn't move.

"You always take the second-floor stairs," he said, voice smooth as dark velvet, lounging back slightly with the kind of casual elegance I'd only ever seen in movies. "Habit?"

I blinked, barely keeping my footing. Was he... studying me?

"I just... prefer it to the elevator," I mumbled, trying to sound indifferent as I moved to the edge of the gurney—far from him and peeled back the lid on my Tupperware.

Eat. Just eat. I still have eight hours left on this shift.

"That's cold?" he asked, watching me.

I nodded, cheeks warming. "Yeah. Too tired to heat it up."

His brow furrowed, and something unreadable passed over his expression. Not quite disapproval. Not quite concern. Something deeper. Warmer. Stranger.

"How do you take care of others," he asked quietly, "when you can't even take care of yourself?"

I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

For a long moment, I didn't answer. I didn't move. His voice wasn't cruel. There was no judgment in it. But it cracked through something in me all the same.

I lifted my gaze and collided with his.

Those violet eyes. They were arresting. Ancient and endless, like they held storms and stars both. I couldn't look away, even when I wanted to.

"Are you saying..." I said slowly, quietly, "that I look bad?"

His eyes widened just a little. Just enough to tell me he hadn't meant it that way.

"No," he said at once, voice lower now. More careful. "Of course not, bunny."

I blinked. "Bunny?"

He smiled then. It was barely there, but it did something to me, made my stomach tighten, made the air thinner. 

"Yeah. You're a young, sweet little skittish thing," he said. "Always looking like you're ready to bolt."

I didn't know what to say to that. The silence stretched. I stared down at my pasta like it might offer answers.

"You don't even know me," I said finally, smiling despite myself.

"I could," he replied. "That can change, bunny."

And then he stood. Just like that.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just the sound of expensive shoes against linoleum as he walked down the hall, disappearing into the shadows he always seemed to belong to.

I stared after him long after he left.

I was almost at the end of my shift now, exhaustion weighing heavy on my bones, when something caught my eye, a steaming cup of coffee resting on top of a neat bundle of violet tulips, carefully placed on my locker.

My brow furrowed as I glanced around, the sterile hum of the hospital fading into the background. No one else was near. 

Next to the flowers and coffee lay a small, crisply folded note. I unfolded it, fingers trembling slightly.

You look like someone who forgets to eat when she's working too hard.

The message was penned in delicate, flowing script—elegant, deliberate. It was signed simply with an R.

I looked down at the cup, inhaling the rich aroma. It was from my favourite coffee shop, the one tucked away miles from the hospital, all the way across Velaris, where I often went when I had rare days off.

A sudden sound drew my attention. The locker room door creaked open, and in stepped someone familiar—Lucien. 

His fiery red hair caught the overhead light, and the calm, easy confidence that seemed to follow him like a shadow immediately settled the fluttering nerves inside me.

"Looks like you've got a mysterious admirer," Lucien said with a teasing smile as he tossed his scrub top onto the bench, completely unbothered by my presence.

I laughed, though there was a strange, shaky sensation twisting in my chest. 

Was this romantic or a little... unsettling? The line felt thin and blurred.

"Luc, next time you decide to start taking your clothes off, maybe give me a heads-up? Some of us might be traumatised," I joked, turning away to give him some privacy, cradling the warm cup in my hands.

I took a sip and it was perfect. My exact order, a caramel latte with oat milk, no cream, just how I liked it. 

A small, thoughtful detail that made my heart race a little faster.

"Darling, I'm just giving you a show," Lucien replied smoothly once he was dressed, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around before linking our arms. 

Together, we walked toward the hospital exit, his presence a steady anchor amidst the swirl of my thoughts.

Lucien was the only person I truly trusted. 

We met during nursing school, two lost souls who bonded instantly over shared stories of fractured families and a fierce, stubborn kindness that never quite fit anywhere else. 

Lucien was the only man in my life who hadn't wanted something from me. 

Not my body, not my time—just my friendship. Maybe that's why I never let myself see what was under the surface with him. Maybe that's why I trusted him too much.

Somehow, by a stroke of luck or fate, we ended up working in the same hospital, and without him, I'm pretty sure I'd have lost my mind long ago.

We chatted easily, laughter and light teasing filling the spaces between exhausted breaths. But then, through the glass doors at the hospital entrance, my heart stopped. 

There he was again. Rhysand.

"I'll catch up with you later, Luc. Just remembered something," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, light.

Lucien paused, brows knitting slightly in concern. "I can wait."

I smiled, softening it with a gentle shake of my head. "No, really—it's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before he could argue, I leaned up and pressed a light, familiar kiss to his cheek. He relaxed, giving me a nod, and turned away.

I took a slow, steadying breath and pivoted, heading toward the figure leaning far too casually against the stone wall.

He didn't move, didn't call out, but he watched me approach like he had all the time in the world, his gaze steady, gleaming with that mix of amusement and something darker.

When I was close enough that others couldn't overhear, I lifted my chin and asked, carefully, "why are you always here?" 

My voice was sweeter than I intended, touched with nervousness I couldn't quite swallow.

Rhysand tilted his head slightly, that unreadable smile ghosting over his lips. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." His voice was low, smooth, like silk draped over a blade.

I resisted the urge to fidget. "I know your friend—Helion was discharged. He's already gone home. So I'm not sure why you're still... hanging around."

I hesitated for half a second too long before pushing forward. "Try me."

His smile widened, slow and deliberate, the kind that could unmake a girl if she let it. His eyes gleamed, equal parts mischief and danger.

"Because," he said, voice dipping just above a whisper, "there's something here worth watching."

The air between us seemed to shift and thicken. That look he gave me, sharp and wickedly beautiful, made my breath catch. 

My knees went weak, shamefully so, and I had to ground myself with the curl of my fingers into my palm to stay upright.

There was something terrifying about how much I wanted him. Terrifying, because I didn't even know him. Because no one who looks at you like that wants anything good.

He looked at me like he was already planning what to do with me—like I was a piece on a board he was already winning.

Rhysand said nothing more, he didn't need to.

And gods help me, I couldn't look away.

Rhysand's POV - 

I felt it the moment she turned toward me.

A slow, simmering satisfaction uncoiled in my chest, dark and indulgent, like aged whiskey sliding over a bruise as her gaze locked on mine and her feet began moving in my direction. 

Voluntarily. Finally.

Lucien, ever the golden boy, lingered at her side. His brows lifted slightly in question, his stance soft with concern. 

I watched him too carefully, I'll admit that. Every subtle shift of his expression, every twitch of his jaw, was committed to memory. 

He leaned in just slightly—too familiar and I noted the quiet intimacy of it with cold precision. The tight line of his shoulders. The furrow between his brows. The way he looked at her like she was precious.

They were just friends. I knew that. 

But when she leaned in, pressing those sweet, unthinking lips to his cheek in a gesture so casual it might've killed me, something sharp twisted in my gut. Not quite rage. But something just as volatile.

It should've been me. Her mouth. On my skin. Even for a breath of a second.

My jaw tensed so hard I thought I'd crack a molar. I let the emotion crash through me like a wave slamming into stone, violent and inevitable. 

But I didn't let it show. Not on the surface. Never on the surface.

Lucien finally walked away. And then she was there—standing in front of me.

She was beautiful in the kind of way that made men stupid. Dangerous. Willing to start wars. Hair loose and windblown. Lips slightly parted. The tulips I'd left for her cradled gently in her arms like something sacred.

Violet tulips, her favourite. Of course I knew that. I knew everything.

Where she went to college. Her grades. The café she stops at when she's had a hard shift. The playlist she falls asleep to. The name of her childhood cat. Her first pet—Bubbles, a goldfish that lasted all of two weeks.

She told someone once that losing Bubbles was the first time she understood death.

That stuck with me. Everything about her did.

She didn't belong to me. Not officially. Not yet. But I'd memorised her like a blueprint. 

And I never study something unless I intend to own it.

When she looked up at me with those wide, wary eyes and asked, "Why are you always here?" as if she didn't already feel the gravity between us—I nearly smiled. Almost.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I had said, letting the words roll off my tongue in that easy, unaffected way I'd perfected over years of backroom deals and blood-slick negotiations.

But it wasn't easy. Because then she said his name. Helion.

I arched a brow, letting my irritation bleed through before I could stop it. "You keep tabs on all patients that aren't yours, bunny?" 

The nickname came out before I could suppress it. Sharp and sweet, just like her.

Her brows drew together, confusion flashing across her face in that lovely, honest way of hers. Innocent. Unaware. It only made it worse. 

That look she gave me—like she didn't know how tightly I was wound around her little finger.

"Helion wasn't one of yours," I clarified, voice lower now. Firmer.

She smiled then. The smile. Not the one she gave to strangers. Not the polite, practised one.

No, this one was hers. The real one. It split her face open like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It was pure, and warm, and unintentional. I'd kill to see it again.

"We always remember the sweet ones," she said, gaze drifting out toward the horizon as she adjusted the tulips in her hand—my tulips.

She had no idea what she was doing to me.

"He was super charming, too," she went on, her voice light with admiration. "And so patient. I was almost envious he wasn't one of mine."

Charming. Patient. Sweet.

I will bury him alive.

"That's Helion for you," I muttered, barely keeping the venom out of my tone.

I was already calculating how quickly I could get him reassigned. Far away. Somewhere colder. Somewhere quieter. Or maybe just... gone.

I've done worse for less.

She shivered then. A small movement. Barely perceptible. But I caught it. Of course I did.

Immediately, I straightened. "Do you want a ride home?" The offer came out more clipped than I intended, but the concern underneath it was real.

She looked up at me and shook her head, too quickly. "No, I'll walk. Thank you for the offer."

And then—just like that she turned and walked away.

I didn't call after her. I didn't follow. I stood there, silent and still, watching the soft sway of her steps disappear into the dusk like a knife sliding into water.

She didn't belong to me. Not yet.

But I wasn't the kind of man who let something slip through his fingers. Not when I'd already claimed it. Not when I'd bled for far less.

And gods help anyone who stood in my way because they would not stand long.

A/n - I ended up going with "bunny" for the nickname—I toyed with "Bambi" for a while, but it didn't quite hit the right tone for the dynamic I wanted between them :)

Lucien's officially the best friend in this AU. I needed someone who felt safe, warm, and grounding for her and who better than our favourite redhead with emotional depth?

This parts more of a filler—less action, more atmosphere. It's her beginning to notice Rhys, starting to feel that pull, but also questioning if what he's doing is romantic or unsettling. That blurred line was intentional. I wanted it to feel intoxicating but disorienting, too!

And honestly, if someone left coffee and tulips on my locker IRL, I'd probably freak out. Working in a hospital, you get hit on way too often, and most of us just pretend it didn't happen and move on. So yeah—realism meets fantasy here.

Thank you so much for reading <3

The Ruin tag list - @queenoffeysand @sttvrdustt @wedonttalkaboutvoldemort @coeurdeveea @maltemp @sillyfreakfanparty @justtryingtosurvive02 @bosssliv5g @hyruledemigod20 @sstrohma @zoeisdreaming6

[cosmiclily]

chapter eleven: blurred lines

wc: 2.5k

notes: hiii!! hope everyone is well, here is a new chapter ! i love jinx in this one 😭 and also caitlyn wasn’t a bad girlfriend i just head canon modern jinx to just not like her

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating aggressively against your nightstand. A groggy glance at the screen revealed the caller: Archie.

It was supposed to be your day off.

After an exhausting week of nonstop promotions—and with only three days left until the album release—you all needed a moment to breathe. A chance to rest, recharge, maybe even sleep in for once. But apparently, Archie had other plans.

You groaned, blindly reaching for your phone and answering without bothering to mask your irritation.

“Someone better be dying for you to be calling me at this hour” you muttered, voice rough with sleep, eyes barely open.

“Oh, finally! Took you long enough” Archie’s voice came through the speaker, far too chipper for seven in the fucking morning. “I know it’s early, but I really needed to talk to you.”

You sighed, rubbing at your face. Archie was always a cheerful guy—you could count the number of times you'd seen him actually mad on one hand. And most of those times had been directly related to Vi’s antics. But right now? Right now, he sounded extra excited.

“To me?” you asked, frowning.

“Yes, yes—you and Violet” he said quickly. You could hear the faint shuffle of papers and the distant ringing of office phones in the background. Whatever this was, he was already deep in work mode. “Can you come down to the office, please?”

You sat up slowly, your exhaustion starting to give way to curiosity. Archie wasn’t this pushy unless it was something big.

“Should I be worried?” you asked, stretching one arm over your head.

“Not at all” he assured you. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

And so you did.

You got ready quickly, barely awake as you sent a text to Vi:

You have any idea what Archie’s on about?

She replied almost instantly.

When do we ever know what he’s planning?

Fair enough.

By the time you arrived at the office, everything looked exactly the same as it always did—the old lady at the front desk flipping through a magazine, the god-awful elevator music playing on loop, the faint hum of printers and muffled phone calls filling the air.

The only real surprise? Archie’s office wasn’t a disaster zone. Usually, it looked like a tornado had blown through—papers everywhere, coffee cups stacked like a game of Jenga, whiteboards covered in half-erased scribbles. But today? Today, everything was neatly filed, his desk actually visible for once.

That was almost more alarming than the early morning summons.

You knocked on the door, and Archie opened it almost immediately.

“What is going on?” you asked, stepping inside.

“We should wait for Violet to arrive” he said, gesturing for you to sit. “I want to have this conversation with both of you together.”

You froze for just a second, your stomach twisting.

Did he know?

No. Impossible.

There was no way he had figured out that you and Vi were sleeping together. You had been careful. No one knew.

…Right?

You forced yourself to stay relaxed, shrugging as you grabbed a mug from the small coffee station in the corner of his office. Taking a slow sip, you shot him a casual look. “Is it bad? Are we getting a lecture?”

Archie chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, not at all. It’s actually a great opportunity to promote the band.” He flipped through a few folders on his desk, organizing them with an efficiency that definitely meant he was up to something. “And why would you need a lecture?” He suddenly looked up, raising a curious eyebrow. “Did you do something?”

You nearly choked on your coffee.

Before you could sputter out a response, the door swung open, and Vi walked in looking slightly disheveled—her short hair messier than usual, her hoodie thrown over a t-shirt like she had barely been awake when she left her place. Unfortunately, that only sent a flood of inappropriate thoughts straight to your brain. On one hand, it was a welcome distraction from whatever dreadful conversation you were about to have. On the other, it was terrible for the exact same reason. How were you supposed to focus on what Archie was saying when she looked like that?

She yawned, stretching lazily as she leaned against the doorframe, her shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach. “What did I do this time?”

“Nothing bad, Miss Violet. In fact, something really, really great!” Archie beamed, pulling out the chair next to you and motioning for Vi to sit.

She turned to you with a puzzled expression, silently asking if he had gone insane in the short period you weren’t in contact. You had no answer.

Vi sighed, running a hand through her already chaotic hair. “Cut the bullshit, Archie. Just tell us already.”

She got a little aggressive when she was anxious. It was hot, actually.

Archie, unfazed as ever, clasped his hands together and launched into his pitch. “So, ever since your duo video, I’ve noticed a lot of buzz surrounding you two in the fanbase—which, by the way, is growing exponentially!” He swiped at his tablet, scrolling through whatever digital evidence he had gathered. “There’s a ton of talk about your chemistry. I’ve seen a bunch of compilation videos titled things like ‘Viy/n Moments’—which, apparently, is your ship name? I don’t really get that stuff, but the kids love it.”

The more Archie spoke, the more horrified you felt—not just because of what he was saying, but because he was the one saying it. Hearing Archie use terms like ship name was possibly the worst part of this entire situation.

“And I was talking to Mark” he continued “and he said that the younger audience really latches on to this kind of thing. A romance within the band? It’s intriguing. It keeps people invested.”

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her face was unreadable, her gaze locked on Archie. You couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad sign.

“What exactly do you want to do with this?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup like it was your last lifeline. Whatever Archie was about to say next, you had a sinking feeling it was going to be a lot to process.

“I was thinking…” He paused dramatically, as if waiting for you to lean in with anticipation—not that you would. “The two of you could fake an affair during promotions, and even after the album is released. We could market the hell out of it!” He grinned, clearly convinced he had just struck gold.

You blinked. Then again. Surely, you misheard him.

“What the fuck?” The words left your mouth before you could even think them through. “Why would we ever do something like that?”

Vi let out a short, amused exhale, but when you glanced at her, she didn’t seem nearly as horrified as you were. Instead, she was watching Archie with mild curiosity, like she was waiting for him to dig himself deeper.

“Hear me out!” Archie raised his hands defensively, as if expecting immediate backlash. “You don’t actually have to do anything publicly affectionate. No staged kisses, no forced hand-holding—just be seen together enough times for people to start making their own assumptions.”

You shook your head, utterly baffled. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” Archie countered, tilting his head. “Because from what I can tell, everyone is already speculating. The fans are eating up every little glance, every interaction. And you know what happens when people think two bandmates might secretly be involved?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping like he was letting you in on some groundbreaking industry secret. “They get obsessed. They create theories. They analyze song lyrics. They buy into the fantasy. And that means more engagement, which means more album sales, more streams, more everything.”

You stole another glance at Vi, hoping she’d back you up, but she was still unreadable, one arm draped over the chair, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against the wood.

“You’re asking us to fake a whole-ass relationship” she finally said, her voice neutral. “You know that, right?”

Archie shrugged. “I’m asking you to lean into what people already believe.”

You felt your stomach twist uncomfortably. This was dangerous. Not just because it was manipulative, but because… well, the lines between fake and real, platonic and romantic, were already blurred enough for you. And if you agreed to this? You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep those lines from completely disappearing.

Archie must have sensed your hesitation because he softened his tone. “Just sleep on it. Talk to each other, think about it carefully, and then we’ll decide what our next step will be.”

As you and Vi left Archie’s office and stepped into the elevator, an uncomfortable silence settled between you. Despite the muffled office chatter in the background, the tension was thick, making everything feel eerily quiet.

And then, out of nowhere, Vi burst out laughing.

You turned to her, baffled, watching as she leaned against the elevator wall, wiping at the corners of her eyes.

“What is going on? Why are you laughing?” you asked, half-annoyed, half-concerned that she had officially lost her mind.

Vi shook her head, still chuckling. “I don’t know. I just think the idea is so stupid — and so funny.” She took a breath, composing herself, though the amused glint in her eyes remained. “And the worst part? I’m actually considering it.”

You blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”

She grinned. “Jinx would think this is hilarious.”

Of course. Jinx would absolutely lose her mind over something like this—teasing Vi relentlessly, probably even stirring the pot further.

You crossed your arms, trying to make sense of the situation. “So what, you’re saying you want to go along with this?”

Vi shrugged, still smirking. “I don’t know. Maybe. Could be fun.”

Fun. Right. Because pretending to be in love with someone you were already secretly sleeping with and actually had feelings for wasn’t the most reckless thing you could possibly do.

──────────────────────

“And he wanted you to what?”

Jinx’s laughter crackled through the speaker as you sat in your car, Vi lounging in the passenger seat like she didn’t have a care in the world.

After her hysterical outburst in the elevator, the two of you had decided to park somewhere quiet and call Jinx — partly to share the ridiculous news, partly to actually talk about the possibility.

“Exactly that” Vi confirmed, stretching her legs out on the dashboard like she owned the place. “Pretend we’re in a relationship because — according to him — ‘the kids love it.’” She even threw on a near-perfect impression of Archie’s accent, making Jinx cackle even harder.

“I think that would be hilarious!” Jinx wheezed between fits of laughter. Vi shot you a knowing look, one that practically screamed told you so.

Then Jinx added, “How long do you think it would take Dad to call and congratulate you?”

You furrowed your brows, glancing at Vi. “What does that mean?”

Vi rolled her eyes, but Jinx was all too happy to explain.

“Oh, you know— back when you and Vi started hanging out, Vander was constantly asking when she’d dump Caitlyn and start dating you.” Jinx’s voice dropped into a teasingly deep tone, mimicking her father. “‘She’s such a nice girl, Vi. I can see the good influence she has on you.’” She burst into laughter again.

Your mouth fell open, and you turned to Vi, stunned. “Wait — what?”

Vi groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. “Yeah, yeah, he was obsessed with the idea. Thought you were, like, my guiding light or some shit.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Clearly, he didn’t know about all the bad decisions I make.”

“Exactly!” Jinx chimed in. “Joke’s on him, you’re both disasters.”

Vi grinned, nudging your arm with her elbow. “So? What do you think? About Archie’s idea, I mean.”

The question lingered in the air, heavier than before. Because despite how absurd it all sounded… part of you wasn’t immediately shutting it down.

“I think you should 100% go for it!” Jinx pitched, her voice sharp with mischief. “Not to bring out the dead, but I would die to see Caitlyn’s face when you make it “public” — I’m making air quotes, by the way.”

“Leave her out of this, please.” Vi’s voice dropped, a sharp edge slicing through her laid-back tone.

You watched her carefully. She tried so hard to act like she didn’t care, like a year was enough time to bury a relationship that had lasted as long as hers and Caitlyn’s. But you saw the cracks. The way she still wrote songs to and about her, lyrics laced with unresolved feelings and quiet longing.

You rolled your eyes, but Vi was too busy staring out the window to notice.

“Calm down, sis. I just think her reaction would be funny,” Jinx teased.

Vi clenched her jaw, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against her thigh.

“It kinda would be,” you muttered, shrugging as you leaned back against your seat.

Vi turned to you, eyebrows raised. “So you actually want to do it?”

You opened your mouth to answer — but nothing came out.

Logically, it was a terrible idea. Playing pretend with Vi when your feelings for her were already a tangled mess? Letting the lines blur even more than they already had? It was practically begging for heartbreak.

But the selfish part of you? The part that wanted any excuse to be closer to her, even if it was a lie?

That part was screaming yes.

“I…” You trailed off, feeling your pulse hammer in your throat.

Vi tilted her head, watching you carefully. “Come on, you can be honest. I won’t bite.” She grinned, but her voice had softened, and the teasing edge was gone.

You took a shaky breath, fingers curling around the hem of your hoodie. “I just… I don’t want things to get weird between us,” you admitted quietly.

Vi’s expression shifted, the playfulness fading entirely. She sat up, turning toward you in her seat. “It wouldn’t” she said, her voice steady. “I swear.”

You weren’t sure you believed that.

Because for you, things were already weird. Waking up next to her, pretending the warmth of her skin against yours didn’t linger long after she left your apartment. Pretending it didn’t hurt when she flirted with other people, or when Jinx made offhand comments about her type. Pretending you didn’t catch yourself wishing, over and over, that whatever you had with her could be real.

But Vi? She didn’t seem worried at all.

And maybe that was the answer you needed.

Maybe, to her, this wasn’t a big deal. Maybe you were, again, the one making it complicated.

You forced a small smile. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Vi’s eyes lit up, and she slapped your thigh in excitement. “Hell yeah. We’re about to break the internet.”

Jinx let out a delighted shriek through the phone. “Oh my God, I’m gonna make a fan account and start the rumors myself.”

You laughed, but the sound felt thin — like it barely masked the fear curling in your chest. This whole situation felt like walking on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath your feet. One wrong step, one careless breeze, and you’d fall.

And if you fell?

You were terrified Vi wouldn’t be there to catch you.

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masterlist - chapter twelve

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